"Mama," he says with voice a-quiver, "I got a ouchie."
I look at him in sympathy. I know what he wants: a band-aid. But I'm making him work for it, or we'll be spending a fortune on Wiggles band-aids and patching up every little bump.
"Is it bleeding?"
"Can I have a band-aid?"
"You don't need a band-aid. It's not even bleeding!"
The face crumples. "I got a ouchiiiie..."
"Shall I give it a kiss?"
He nods and walks over with finger outstretched. I lean over and give it a big, smacking kiss just before I make a big crunching sound.
He pulls away immediately and looks at me indignantly. "Don't eat it!"
*
"Jellybean, would you like some croissants?"
"Yes!"
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, please, Mama. May I can I have some croissant, please, Mama?"
"Okay."
"I need some fig jam, okay?"
Fig jam is my favourite croissant spread. Fig jam with creme fraiche. Mm... Jellybean didn't use to take jam with his croissant until I accidentally-on-purpose put some in his mouth. He's never looked back.
"Fig jam or strawberry jam?"
"Uh ... just fig jam! But no white sauce, 'kay? I don't like the white sauce."
"No, no creme fraiche for you." As if I'd share. Creme fraiche is more scarce than gold in the local grocery. "But would you like strawberry jam instead? Strawberry jam is yummy! Wanna try it?"
"No, sanks. Just fig jam."
"Not strawberry jam? Just try it? One bite?"
"Just fig jam. No strawberry jam."
"You don't wanna try strawberry jam?" I say as though it were a huge tragedy. "Why
not?"
"Because," he says in a very serious face, "it's not
delicious for me."
*
"Mama, may I can I please have your tummy?"
"Sure."
When I look in the mirror and see the sad shape of my tummy after having had the twins, it's never an uplifting sight. And while I make sure that the last thought I have before turning away from my reflection is the pride I have for having given birth to three healthy babies, I can't help but mourn my pre-pregnancy (or, indeed, pre-twins) abs. They weren't flat by any means, but I wish someone had told me to go ahead and prance around in a bikini while my skin was still smooth, tummy bulge or no. Seeing as I just bought myself a Miraclesuit--look 10 lbs lighter in 10 secs!--I don't foresee any more bikinis in my future.
"Aw," the toddler croons as he lifts my shirt and lays his head on my bellybutton, "I
like your tummy!"
It's strange, but I remember, as a child, listening to bedtime stories while I lay my head on Mum's tummy. It was part of my routine every night, until I stopped having bedtime stories. (And now I think, That must have been so uncomfortable for her!) So my son's affinity for my tummy brings back fond memories of my own.
"I
love to kiss your tummy, Mama," he says as he showers my stretch marks and wrinkles and flabby bits with kisses.
After two pregnancies, it's lovely to know that this wrinkled, overstretched, under-exercised bit of flesh can still be the object of such adoration.
*
I'm wearing a kind of knee-length duster as we lounge about on the couch. The toddler just finished his bath, and he's wearing a singlet and his bedtime nappy.
"I want your tummy!"
"Excuse me?"
"May I can I have your tummy, please, Mama?"
"No, darling." He's adorable, but I have my limits.
"Aw," he says in a sad voice, "whyyyyy?"
"I don't have any pants on," I say as I pull him up for a cuddle instead.
And, with the indignation of someone caught in an undignified situation and the excitement of someone who has found a loophole, he replies: "
I don't have any pants on!"
Labels: Jellybean aka The Little Man