This morning before he got dressed for school, my son snuggled up with me on the living room couch in his polarfleece jammies. The room was darkish and my husband was off in the kitchen eating breakfast, and my son and I had the most lovely, intimate conversation:
HIM, patting my belly: Mommy, was this my home before I was born?
ME: Yes, it was.
HIM: And you fed me through here? (unzips his jammies and points to his bellybutton).
HIM: I didn't have a mouth, so I needed to eat through my bellybutton.
ME: Well, you did have a mouth, but you ate through your bellybutton.
HIM: What would happen when salad tried to go through there? It would get stuck.
HIM: Or tomatoes? I hate tomatoes, so when a tomato went through there I spat it right out.
HIM: But mashed potatoes would fit through; they would just slide right into my bellybutton.
ME: I guess so...
HIM: I love you, mommy.
ME: I love you, too, sweetie. Now go change into your school clothes.
He's the best. And I know I've posted about bellybuttons before, but dang, this connection I have with my little son is so very rewarding.
I don't know why he's so obsessed with his bellybutton, but I know why I am, and I feel so very lucky to have been able to carry him in my body and give birth to him so that I can have conversations such as this one.
I'm just a little nervous about what other people are going to think when he starts telling them that he spits tomatoes out of his navel. Oh well. It won't be any worse than what they think when he tells them that before he was a boy, he was a fish (the results of my attempts to explain evolutionary biology to him), or when he tells them that after he dies he's going to turn into a plant (the results of my efforts to explain decomposition to him).