The Girl has established a complex bedtime ritual, one step of which involves bouncing on The Boy's bed while “Life is a Highway” plays on the boombox and I hold her hands.
On Sunday, as she bounced, she stopped, bent down, picked up TB's baseball cap, and put it on her head. She announced proudly:
“Me a boy!”
You can read all the gender theory you want; that moment will still throw you.
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At dinner yesterday:
The Boy: When you have another baby, he can have the crib, and The Girl and I can get bunk beds! I'll be on top, and she'll be on the bottom.
The Wife: I don't think we're going to have any more babies.
TB: But you're a Mommy. That's what Mommies do. Mommies lay babies.
TW: We don't lay babies. We have babies.
TB: So you'll have a baby?
TW: No, we're done with that. But someday you could have a baby.
TB: I'm not a girl!
TW: No, I mean you could be a Daddy.
TB: Daddies don't lay babies!
TW: Well, no, but someday you could be a Daddy. Don't you want to be a Daddy?
TB: Yeah.
TW: When your wife has a baby, you'll be the Daddy.
TB: She'd lay the baby?
TW: She'd have the baby.
(pause)
TB: EEEEWWW! Gross!!!!!
Bless his short attention span, he didn't ask the next question...
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The Boy: “They call it Christmas because Santa's real name is Kris, and you don't want to miss it!”
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Last night, as TB wrote his letter to Santa:
TW: What else do you want to ask for?
(pause)
TB: Mittens.
TW: Really?
TB: Yeah, because mine aren't very good, and I don't want you to have to go shopping for new ones. You do too much around here now. I don't want you to have to do everything, so Santa can get me those.
That one got a hug from Mommy.
I think he'll get his mittens.