Belly Button BingoFebruary 25, 2010 at 9:37 pm | Posted in Bun, Lollipop | 11 Comments
Lollipop is convinced of a few things:
- Bun likes to eat the enchiladas in my tummy. He does not like the tomatoes.
- He has some diapers in there somewhere. Because he is a baby and babies need diapers.
- My belly button is the looking glass through which to observe him.
It’s this last one that gets me.
Warning: No-Fly Zone
I have a thing about my belly button. It’s like how some people can’t stand the smell of tuna or the taste of cilantro. Or the sound of squeaky Styrofoam.
I have nothing against it, exactly. I appreciate the purpose it served when I was a wee zygote. But I cannot wear pants where the waistline hits that high. I cannot let my seat belt touch it. I cannot carry a bag of groceries in the front. Ew. Ick. Gross.
Weird, I know. What can I say? It’s a thing I have.
Are You There, Bun? It’s Me, Lollipop.
But every time Lollipop asks a question about Bun, she insists on poking and prodding around my belly button. Peering in with one eye for a glimpse of his little waterworld. Sticking her finger in (without warning) and turning it like a Phillips-head, as if to unscrew the womb lid. Pushing with her poky little pointer finger, to see if he’ll poke back.
Ew. Ick. Gross. Except it’s adorable.
I mean, she gets it. (Even though, clearly, a few details have gotten lost in translation. Mainly, the one wherein my belly button is not a baby-viewing window, per se.) But she understands there is a baby in there. That he is growing. That one day soon he’ll be big enough to come out and play. Or steal her Super Readers.
She was too young to get this stuff when Giggles was born. She was happily oblivious to the concept of “little brother” and “sharing” and “he hit me first.” Now, of course, she knows. She is an expert big sister. No tricks. Unless she’s the one playing them.
And she’s excited and curious and pleased anyway.
So I let her poke, prod, push. It takes superhuman control. I squeeze my eyes shut. Clench my fists. And probably have no enamel left on my teeth. Occasionally, I flinch. Cringe. Pull away. Can’t control this belly button thing.
I tell her Bun made me do it — he is her little brother. Sure, he may not be born yet, but he’s certainly old enough to torment his big sister. He learned it in the womb after all.