Why I Took my Daughter to Dairy Queen

(Photos are from last weekend, and are unrelated to this post except in spirit).

On Friday, on V's way home from school, I started telling her the story of how her father and I got married. She's heard parts of this before, but not details, like how Uncle Steve was home from Texas, and Auntie Beth was home from Colorado, and they both did readings for us. And how Auntie Jess brought her guitar and sang "You Are My Sunshine" as my parents walked/wheeled me down the driveway (she liked that part a lot).
Then she asked "Where was I?"

"Uh, well, you weren't born yet." That was easy enough. But she wasn't letting me off the hook yet.

"Oh. So you left me at home." She said this like of course, this is what you do all the time, you lousy parents.
"What? No, we didn't leave you at home! We didn't even know if we were going to have babies yet when we got married. It was almost seven years ago, and you're only three." Logic seemed the only way out of this conversation.

"Well where was I then?" Math had failed me once again. The fact that she would've been negative 3 1/2 didn't seem to phase her. I decided to go all philosphical on her.

"You didn't exist yet. You hadn't been made. There was no such person on earth named V Elizabeth yet." (you reincarnationalists can be quiet out there)

Her tiny brow furrowed. "So I was still in your tummy?" I've never liked it when women call their uterus their tummy, but it is much easier to explain, anatomically. And finally, I saw a chance for resolution.

"Yes. Yes. You were still in my tummy, and in Daddy's body, and we hadn't made you yet." I had to give him partial credit, I figured. I hadn't planned on covering the birds and the bees just yet, but if she was gonna keep asking, I was gonna keep answering.

"Okay," she said, looking out the window. "I wish I had some ice cream."

Mercy. You're not the only one, child.

And it was delicious.