What’s on my mind? I must be getting doddery because I’ve been thinking about the time my grown children were toddlers. I have three: Roger Leon Parton, born in January, 1971; and twins Samantha and Erin Parton, born in December, 1971. They were precocious; they were adorable.
Being so close in age, they frequently huddled together, whispering and sharing what little each knew of the world. Erin, younger than Sam by 10 minutes, was often leader of the pack. And so it was that Erin emerged from one of these huddles when all were three years old.
“Mum?” she asked, “where did we come from?”
(I remember thinking: “ACK! So soon?" As I’ve said, they were precocious.)
Confronting the question matter-of factly, I sat down as three toddlers stared, awaiting my answer. As I began, I remember forming a circle with the thumb and index finger of my left hand, as well as extending the index finger of my right.
I then told them their Mummy and Daddy had taken off all their clothes and Daddy had ... and Mummy had ... The straightened index finger of my right hand was now slipping in and out of the thumb-and-index circle I’d created with my left.
I went on and on ... The egg …! The sperm …! The egg, again! My right index finger moved faster and faster and faster! When I began this story, my toddlers were mesmerized. When I thought to look up from my furiously in-out-in-out finger, all three were sobbing.
They wanted to know where they’d come from; I’d told them. Why the tears?
Still the leader of the pack, Erin choked out: “We meant … We meant … Which hospital?”
© NicoleParton, 2020
