I was 6 years old when my mom became pregnant with my little sister, Erica, and 7 when she was born. I've heard a few stories about my childhood, mostly the same few funny ones over and over. But recently, my mom told me a new one that I had never heard, and certainly have no recollection of. I don't know what spurred this memory, but she told me the story in between bouts of uncontrollable laughter and with tears rolling down her cheeks.
Apparently I asked my mother something about the new baby sister that was on the way. She gave me the usual spiel about how the baby lives in the mommy's tummy until she's born. I then asked the logical question, "How does the baby get out of the mommy's tummy?"
To which my mom eloquently and truthfully replied, "Through a hole in the mother's body."
It was here in the story that my mom paused to compose herself long enough to do her best impression of a 6-year-old, little Elizabeth asking with honest, inquisitive eyes, "Through the mommy's nose?"
My mom and I