Now that my son knows there is going to be a baby, he has taken to listening to my big, round, whale-like bump when I am on the couch, or patting both sides trying to make his sister wiggle when I am perched in a chair. Sometimes, he forgets to be gentle, and head-butts my stomach when I’m standing, saying “Meep!” each time. I say “OOF!” or “OW!” loudly, he looks at me, says “Sorry Mommy!” and careens off in another direction, oblivious that his affectionate action is making me wheeze like an asthmatic and clutch for a handhold.
He will also pat my belly in passing, remarking “Bee-Bee!” or he will stop to rub my belly with both hands if the fabric of my shirt is soft. Its a sight to behold, his concentration evident by the little wrinkles between his eyebrows, little hands rubbing in both directions, exclaiming “Soft… Soft.”
It’s rather soothing, to be honest. I much prefer that to a head-butt.
However, not only does he like to interact with this new exciting idea of a baby sister, he has some very concrete observations. Observations such as the most recent idea about what is in Mommy’s belly…
“I hear spiders!” he said the other night as he laid his head on my belly and listened. I looked at my husband and then back at my son. Spiders? Really?
“Spiders? There are no spiders in mommy’s belly, only a baby girl.” I said back, trying desperately not to laugh.
He laid his head back on my belly after much assurance his little sister was indeed NOT a spider, then gasped after my stomach rumbled. He lifted his head, the excitement palpable.
“What did you hear?”
“I hear a unicorn!” He exclaimed, and then went to play, as if a unicorn was the most normal of things to find in a Mommy’s belly.