Throughout this pregnancy, I've been waiting for The Princess and Mini-Husband to ask THAT QUESTION, the one that finally explains how on earth did Whoopsie get in my tummy in the first place. Each time we get in the car, the scene of most of our in depth metaphysical and cosmic conversations, I mentally prepared myself that this could be the day I have to finally explain "what happened. "
For some bizarre reason, they haven't asked yet. I don't know whether I should be psyched out of my mind or scared that they don't seem too concerned about knowing the hows and whys behind babies. What I am sure of is that they now know way more than is necessary at 5 and 7 years old about the placenta.
They wanted to know what colour it is, how big was it, did I look at it, was it gross, and most importantly, what do you do with it after the baby is born?
I explained it's function, how I liked seeing it but some people did not, how it was smaller than I expected, and that most often in our cultures, the hospital disposed of the placenta. I also told them how there are some places where the placenta is given to the parents to take home and plant in the garden, a tribute for helping the baby grow. There in the garden, it helps nourish the flowers and trees, making them grow strong and beautiful.
They sat in silence for a few minutes taking all this in.
Finally, Mini-Husband announced to us that not only would his girlfriend (who is currently 5) have to pass her university exams to learn English before they could move to England, but that he, himself, would come to the hospital when their babies were born and take the placenta home in a grocery bag and plant it in their vegetable patch, right under the pumpkins.
I wish I could have captured that look on his face as he sat staring out the car window. Full of happiness and contentment as he thought about his life with Lisa, in England's green and pleasant land, growing placenta fertilized pumpkins and bilingual children.