Who Laid You?


The boy and I were outside, enjoying the warm weather and riding around the driveway on scooters.  Then he stopped and asked me a question:
 “Who laid you?”
At first, I did not understand him.  His speech delay sometimes makes it hard to make out all his words.  Add in that I have no context whatsoever to go by and deciphering is nearly impossible.  So  I asked him:
“What?  Who delayed me?”
The Boy:  “No.  Who laid you?”
Did he just ask who laid me?  WTF?  Where did he get that from?  Oh no, he’s becoming his father.  What the hell are they showing on Disney Jr these days? Has my four year old been surfing porn on YouTube?
Me: “Are you asking  who laid me?”
The Boy: “Yah”
My mind was busy trying to figure out what a four year old would be thinking to ask this question.  Usually, that is fairly easy for me since I am permanently immature myself, but today I had nothing.
Me:  “Ummmmm…..I’m not sure I am understanding you.”
The kid looks at me as if to say, man, you are one big moron, aren’t you?  Which, apparently I am because I’m currently lost.
The boy (sighs):  “You know, like when you have a baby in your heart?  And he head butts you?  To get out?”
Me – still confused.  The boy – quite ticked.
The boy:  “You know, when you laid me.  When I was an egg.  Then I was hatched.  Y’know what I talking about?”
Ding! Ding! Ding!  It finally hits me.  Lightbulb!  I finally realize what this kid is trying to ask me.  In his warped little head, he is talking about the four year old version of the birthing process.  Babies start as eggs.  Eggs get laid.  Babies get hatched.  Got it.
Me:  “Ahhhhh!  I get it!  Did I lay you?”
The Boy:  “Yah”
Me:  “Well, that’s not exactly how it works, but yes, I’m your mommy.  You came from my egg.”
The boy:  “Was it blue? “
Me: “The egg?  Ummm, sure.”
(He’ll have plenty of time to find out the real story)
The Boy:  “And what color was YaYa’s?”
Me: “Pink”
(Really?  Was I going to say anything else?)
The Boy:  “So who laid you?”
(Ok, dude.  Let stop with the getting laid terminology.   It’s really starting to creep me out.)
Me: “Well, Nana is my mommy.”
The Boy:  “Ooohhh.  So Nana is your mommy.  And you laid Daddy?”
Me:  “Sometimes, but no, Grammy is Daddy’s mommy.”
The boy: “Oh”
And that was it.  He continued on with his scooter, obviously content with the information he acquired.  At some point, he will find out the truth and hopefully wont be to disappointed he wasn’t hatched from a blue egg.  Me – well, I’m just glad I got this question when he was 4 and not 24.  That would be an entirely different conversation and one I hope I never have.

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