The woman who owns the swimming school we attend is fully 8 months pregnant and entering that phase where she looks sort of vaguely miserable, although she chatted very cheerfully about how excited she is for the baby to arrive. Gabe watched our entire conversation, then as soon as we were done talking (YAY on not interrupting, as a side note), he grabbed my hand and said, with urgency in his voice:
"Mommy, do you know why I’m so glad I’m not a girl?"
I knew immediately no good could come of this, but still replied, “No, why?”
"Because girls have to get their tummies cutted and sewed back up."
(I suppose it goes without saying that Gabe and Tess both arrived via c-section.)
The swim school owner looked horrified.
And then he continued, “Did it hurt when they cutted your tummy, mommy? Did you get a lot of medicine? Did they put you to sleep? How long did it take to sew you back up?”
I wished the poor woman good luck and swiftly herded the children towards the car.