Birth, Diarrhea, and Bottles of Alcohol: A conversation with the Anarchist on the miracle of life

Inspired by the Dictator's tenth birthday (the annunciation of which I've recounted HERE)*, the Anarchist wanted to discuss birth. Just kind of in general. This is the conversation we had in the brief five minutes while I brushed her hair after a shower. God help me.

Anarchist: "So...is the Dictator ten yet? I mean, what time does she turn ten?"

Me: "Well, she was born in the afternoon. I'm not sure exactly what time. I was a little out of it."

Anarchist: "Oh. Okay. So she's still nine. I get it. What time was I born?"

Me: "In the evening. Around 8 pm. I remember because we had to call Daddy away from his school board meeting when you were born."*

Anarchist: "Okay. But exactly what time?"

Precious Anarchist. Born at I'm-not-sure o'clock in the evening-ish.
Because I am bad at numbers, and not because alcohol.

Me (embarrassed): "I don't know. Eight-ish. I don't remember exactly because I'm bad with numbers, and also because I was very tired."

Anarchist: "I see. So how many bottles of alcohol did you have, then? The night I was born?"

Me (confused): "Uhh...none? No bottles of alcohol? You don't drink alcohol when you're pregnant. It's not safe for the baby."

Anarchist: "Well, then what were you drinking?"

Me: "Uhh...nothing? Ice chips?"

Anarchist: "I mean, how drunk were you?"

Me (wondering how on earth she even knows what "drunk" is...I swear we're a rather sober people...especially around our children): "Drunk? I wasn't drunk at all."

Anarchist (confused): "Well, I mean, don't they get you alcohol when you have a baby to get drunk? For the pain?"

Me: "Lord, no, Sweetie. They gave me an epidural for the pain."

Anarchist: "Then why did you forget what time I was born...if you weren't drunk?"

Me (still baffled that she seems to understand the concept of "drunk"): "Having a baby makes your body very tired...and your brain very tired."

Anarchist: "Oh, yeah. I get it. Diarrhea makes your body very tired, too. So it's just like diarrhea."

Me: "Uh. Yeah. Just like that. Just like diarrhea."

And no. She still doesn't know how babies are made. I wonder if she thinks it's a little bit like vomiting...I think I'm not going to try to find out.

Me in the hospital, not getting trashed in
preparation for the Anarchist's birth.

*Yes, I keep pushing it on you, because it is my very favorite story. I think it's hilarious. Well, it wasn't hilarious at the time. I might have been traumatized for weeks. Poor back-in-the-day me! But now, all is well, and I laugh hysterically every time I think about all of the pee sticks, and all of the stupid nativity scenes, and all of those degrees I could have had..

**Because OF COURSE a Bureaucrat would be at a board meeting on the very night of his child's birth. She probably became an Anarchist in protest...