Far be it from me to compare actual, real life events and situations to some stupid television programme – particularly one whose central character I find so utterly, excruciatingly annoying it makes me want to set fire to my remote control – but you know that bit in Ally McBeal with the imaginary dancing baby that represents her biological clock? Well my life is EXACTLY like that. Except its not imaginary. And not a baby. And Im not sure if I even HAVE a biological clock.
Nevertheless, and apart from those bits, I have one of those. Or at least I know one.
There has been a sudden upswing in a particular three-year-old asking the kind of searching questions about the contents of my uterus that most people would not. God, I love this small chap.
Anna? He has asked, on more than one occasion recently Do YOU have a baby in your tummy?
Nooooooooooo I have said, once tucking deeply into the chocolate pudding that I had been given, as if somewhere near the bottom of the bowl I might find a tiny spokesperson who would be able to come up with the worlds best explanation.
Whyyyyyyyyy? He replied (not unexpectedly, I admit, given previous conversations we have had)
Well, not EVERYONE has a baby in their tummy, do they?
Why dont YOU have a baby in your tummy?
Because it is full of chocolate pudding. And there is no room for babies, because of all the lovely chocolate pudding that is already in there.
Which, as an answer, worked This time. Its not going to work every time.
Perhaps it is because he just got a baby brother, perhaps it is because we are one of the only couples he knows not to have a small person his age of our own, perhaps most obviously true (seriously, I suspect this to be the case) because he is secretly being in the pay of my parents, and has been given a mission to ensure that I dont forget my filial duty. And theyre paying him in Goldfish crackers.
Really. Theyre totally capable of it, too.