I'm a born liar, and I lie to my son. I steal his fries, bites of his ice cream, even his cookies, right out from under him and then blithely deny it when he squawks. I'm so ashamed.
Tonight, I peeled myself an orange -- one of his favorites -- and didn't offer him any. It was down the hatch before he realized. He wanted to reach down my throat and get it back, and would've too if his arm had been long enough.
I told him the orange was in my tummy with the baby, and the baby was eating it now. He poked my belly button a few times but seemed placated.
Inspired, I tried the same thing later when he caught me filching a french fry off his plate. Wow, did he fuss. "Don't! Eat! My! French Fries!"
So I told him the baby was eating that too.
Minutes pass. All seems forgiven. I come up with the bright idea of digging out a pregnancy book and showing him pictures of what the baby in Mommy's tummy looks like.
He nods and says, "See picture of baby with french fry in his mouth."
Serves me right, I suppose.