Wondergirl is constantly asking questions that I have no answer for like, "If God drove a car, what kind would it be? Would it be a rental car?" or, "You don't work when you get dead, so what do you do all day?" or, "We can't see God, so does that make him an imaginary friend?" More often than not I take the easy way out and tell her that would be an excellent question to ask her father. I justify it by telling myself that Tim is the family expert in all things philosophical since he has a degree in ministry, even though he has never really used it.
Last week, Tim got revenge. Wondergirl and I were in the car when she said, "Mom, how EXACTLY do babies get out of your body? I asked Dad and he told me to ask you." Touche, Tim, touche. I suppose I am the family expert on childbirth.
So I explained the basic mechanics of childbirth. When I was done I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see WG looking at me, horrified. She asked me if I was joking. I assured her I was as serious as could be and then, thinking maybe it would make her feel better, I told her about C-sections. Bad move. WG started shrieking that she didn't want to hear anymore. Then she started sobbing that she was NEVER EVER EVER going to have babies but she was really sad because she wanted to have a husband someday and when you have a husband, you HAVE to have babies. (from what I could gather, this was information she picked up on the playground. Oy.) I explained to her that simply was not true and then gave her some examples of couples we know who don't have children.
Then she said, "But how do you not have a baby when you have a husband?"
I told her I would tell her when she's 10.