My son (who’s six) wants a baby.  It has been the topic of discussion for nearly ten days now, and is threatening to top the charts – his previous obsession (the real Woody and Bullseye from Toy Story) having lasted nearly 14.

Unfortunately I unwittingly contributed to this by implementing my policy of: If the question arises, answer it. As honestly as you can. (As you have probably noticed from previous blogs, my Policies are not exactly fool proof.  You’d have thought I’d have learned by now…)

So here’s what led to the Baby Discussion:

My son lay back in the bath for one of his lengthy philosophical discussions.  I could tell, by the look in his eye.  Now if you are the kind of mother who plays a lot of Trivial Pursuit and watches endless National Geographic and Discovery documentaries, you probably do not have the Oh No Here Comes Another Question I Cannot Answer Syndrome.

I, on the other hand, have the general knowledge capacity of a barnacle, and my standard answer to most questions is, “I don’t know, you’ll have to ask Dad” or, “I’m not sure, we’ll have to look it up on the Internet.” (How anyone ever coped before the Internet is quite beyond me.  I mean, I remember looking up things in the Encyclopaedia or the Collins Factfinder, etc as a child.  But let’s face it – it’s not quite the same as Asking Jeeves how to make An Almost Flourless Chocolate Cake or Googling Cowboy Games for 6 Year Olds, now, is it?)

Not only am I distinctly lacking in the general knowledge department, but I also have the kind of son who says things like “This book says mammals don’t have gills.  An octopus doesn’t have gills.  So – is it a mammal?”  Clearly the answer is No.  Even I know that.  But I also know that the next question will be: “Well, what is an octopus then?” (It is at this point that I generally roll out the Dad or Internet option…)

So imagine my delight when I was finally able to answer one of my son’s questions:

“Mum – where does your body keep the wee before you go to the toilet?”

“You have a little bag-thingy in your tummy called a bladder, and that’s where the wee is stored” (OK – not exactly Einstein’s version, but he’s only six!)

I can tell by the imperceptible gleam in his eye that his brain has processed that and has found the answer lacking.  Uh-oh.

“Oh.  I thought it was this little bag here that holds the wee.  So – what’s that for?”

(A brief aside – my best friend is a vet.  And her policy is always to answer questions about the body as factually and as clearly as possible.  If the question arises – answer it and don’t flubber around with the birds and the bees – it is much simpler and less confusing for the child that way.  I agree with her.  It makes a lot of sense.  So I have a list of carefully prepared Scientific Answers to All Sorts Of Things. Problem is, I have never been called upon to actually use them before.  And, let’s face it, I am not a vet.  So my idea of Scientific is…well, probably a bit weak, to put it mildly.)

So I take a deep breath and say, nonchalantly, “That little bag is where your body stores sperm for when you are a bit bigger and want to make a baby.”

The gleam in his eye is now a force-10 lighthouse emission.

“Oh!  So – a boy CAN have a baby then?”

(The baby thing has come up a few times before.  Most notably when he was about 2 and went around telling everyone he had a squirrel in his tummy.)

I surge on, vaguely aware that I am probably out of my depth here, but determined to prove myself with this Scientific Moment.

“Well…no.  You need a mummy and a daddy for a baby.  The mummy carries the baby in her tummy.  But she can’t get a baby unless the daddy gives her a sperm to fertilise the egg.”

My son is now sitting straight up in the bath, and I just KNOW that what is coming next cannot be good.

“Aha!  So…Daddy can just GIVE you a baby?”

(I admit, at this point I probably should have just said – let’s look it up on the internet in a few years’ time.  But I wanted to dispel any notions that I might actually be contemplating asking Daddy for a baby.)

So I said: “Yes…but only if the mummy and the daddy both want a baby.”

He sinks back under the bubbles and I sigh with pride.  My first Scientific Discussion safely navigated.  Admittedly with a few anxious moments, but generally well executed, I feel.

I ought to have known better.  Suddenly he sits up again and announces:

“I am going to phone Dad and ask him to bring you a baby.”

Oh dear.

“Well – it doesn’t really work like that,” I begin, bravely.  Then I see the gleam in his eye again and rapidly abandon any pretence of Scientific Anything and attempt, very belatedly, to rescue the situation.

“Anyway – who will look after a baby?  I certainly don’t have time for a baby, and Daddy is too busy, and you and your sister won’t want a little pest following you round all day and…”

“I do want a little pest!  Please, please, PLEASE ask Daddy to give you a baby.  I’ll look after it, and feed it and change it and give it a name.  It can be MY baby. Please.  He can just bring us one.  You said he can.  You said I just have to ask and Daddy can bring us a baby.”

Oh dear.  This is NOT going well.  My son’s (usually very clear and logical) reasoning has deteriorated.  I quickly review the last 10 minutes’ worth of discussion and realise that I should have just reverted to Jeeves at the initial opening.  We could have found a safe little picture of a Bladder and he could have been distracted by the Kidneys and Whatnot and I am quite sure we could have had a nice navigation around the Adrenal Gland or something else innocuous and I would not be where I am right now.  Which is quite clearly in the bathroom, with a dripping, delusional son, dealing with a procreational crisis all of my own making…

So – I make a mental note to kill my best friend, and abruptly change the subject:

“Let’s go out and buy you the Genuine Woody and Bullseye Toys from The Original Toy Story 3 Movie.  I know I spent the last two weeks telling you they are far too expensive and a complete waste of money but, you know what?  I’ve changed my mind!!”