My Baby Boy: “How will the baby come out of your belly?” his little voice squeaks innocently.

Me: “Uhhhh”…blank stare… “The Doctor takes it out!”

MBB: “Out of where?”

M: “Uhhh”…scared stare…internal cursing that my husband is not home…

MBB: “Out of your belly?” he finishes for me.

M: “YES!”…sigh of relief… “That’s IT!”

MBB: “Yeah, but HOW?  Does the Doctor just pop it out of your belly button?” he presses.

M: …containing laughter… “God gave Mommies a special place on their bodies to take babies out of.”

MBB: “Where is that special place?”

M: “That is something you find out when you are a Daddy.”

MBB: “Ohhhh, OK Mommy!”

M: …collapse into chair…

Pregnancy brings so many new questions into our minds…and those of the big brothers and sisters who are in awe of our growing bellies!  So the argument is, which is best?  To be blunt and scientific and use all of the correct terminology?  Or to give a blank stare and dance around the questions till you can change the subject?  Good question!  There has to be a middle ground!!

For me, it was all about giving just enough information to satisfy the interrogator!  When the questions stopped, the answers stopped!  Thankfully, I have not yet needed to have the birds and the bees talk (cringing at the thought!).  That means my baby boy is growing up and I can’t bare the thought of it!  (Are you seeing a theme with me?)  Can’t we all just agree that babies come from storks and call it a day?!  Now that I think about it, I think I’m going to check out completely on this one and leave the man-to-man talks to my husband.  Better put on my dancing shoes…

My eight year old son wants his own email address.  What’s more bizarre than that?  I thought about it for a second!  I mean, do I REALLY want a million messages in my inbox from legoclub.com?  As I think about how differently my childhood was compared to my son’s, I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic about the good ol’ days.  Remember when we used to actually write letters?!  You know…pen, paper and envelopes!  In a world of e-cards and text messaging I hope I don’t forget to teach my son the fine art of sitting down and writing a note to a friend, a thank you card to a Grandma or a love note to his Mommy.

I do love that he can stay in touch with friends and family with the click of a button, but the world “out there” in cyberspace is so big, mean and uncaring of our children’s innocence.  So I will ride the line…play it safe.  We’ll take the best of both worlds, please!  A nice card mailed to Grandma, a quick email to a cousin and as for the love notes to Mommy, well, I’ll take those any way I can get them!!

It’s a beautiful, chilly morning.  I  take a sip of my perfectly infused tea as I watch my little ones enjoying a wooden train se, playing so happily, with such innocence.  Then, suddenly, a wave of sadness comes crashing over me.  No, I’m not mentally unstable (well, I guess that’s up for debate).

“Why so blue?” you ask?  Because after feeling such a strong sense of pride and joy in my boys, I look over at my oldest son (he just turned eight, but he’ll always be my baby!) and he says those words that make every mom cringe…”I’m bored!”  There he is, my perfect little angel, snubbing his nose at something so childish as a wooden train.  The coolness of things like video games, Star Wars and various other super heroes call to him like a beacon in the night.  “Play with us!” they call, waiting to destroy that last bit of innocence that hangs in the balance.  I try and try to shine my own light in his eyes.  “Look at how this track can be rebuilt different ways!  How cool is that?!”  But alas, nothing!

So what’s a momma to do?  “Let him go!” shouts my husband, video game controller in hand.  But I can’t bare to do it.  I am hanging on for dear life to that little boy with rosy cheeks and a freckled nose that thinks one day he may just marry me.

Grass stains…on the knees…of fifty dollar jeans.  Spaghetti sauce…on the sleeve…of a thirty dollar shirt.  As a mom, you are probably used to this.  As a Mom of a boy, I guarantee that you despise this!  Seriously, how can a little boy get so darn dirty is so little time?!  Just walking from the house to the car on the way to Church is like torture!  I’m just waiting to see what those little hands and feet are going to get into on the small journey to the car.

That’s why I carry the Tide To Go Stick in my bag at all times.  Sure, it’s not super eco-savvy or the hottest new product on the market.  It’s Tide…in a stick.  But I can not tell you how many times it has saved me from losing it in the middle of dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant when one of my boys (husband included) inadvertently “forgets” that their sleeve is NOT a napkin!

Yes, the Tide To Go Stick works.  Moms, go get one.  Moms of boys, go get a few!  Hey, if it’s good enough for Kelly Ripa’s handbag, it’s good enough for mine!