It started with a kiss. A big smacker on my rounding belly, followed by a bear hug.
Then, came the name, ‘Baby.’ Simple. To the point.
Already, there is an element of possessiveness. Urgent requests for ‘Baby’ to be uncovered for a kiss and cuddle. You mustn’t hurry him.
On the loo. In the bath. Doesn’t matter where.
It can be a tad awkward if we have guests and I’m expected to present my bare-fleshed belly on demand.
Then, came the chats. Telling ‘Baby’ about our trip to the zoo. Showing Baby his toys by pressing them up against my tight tummy. On one occasion ‘Baby’ was even offered food.
For a while I doubted whether my 21-month-old really understood the concept of a baby being inside me. And chuckled when he started to point at his own rotund tum…or, even better, Bumble Bee’s beer belly, and exclaim ‘Baby’.
But it’s gone on too long now and the affection has never waned. Today, my magnificent 6-month pot was shown Curly Boy’s current prize toy, an elephant, and given a rendition of the Elephant March from the Jungle Book.
Sometimes he even lovingly rubs cream onto it. I’ll have Curly Boy to thank if I manage to stay stretch-mark free.
I am in awe at this blossoming relationship between Curly Boy and Bop. My only concern is whether Curly Boy is expecting his sibling to stay a quiet, amenable, unseen/unheard baby belly forever? Will he still be so fond of him when ‘Baby’ turns out to be a grizzling, demanding newborn?
We’ll have to wait and see.
For now, Baby Belly and Curly Boy are the best of friends.