Baby Tad was asleep.

Vivi was asleep.

BT, Ariana and I ate in peace.

As we engaged in pleasant chit chat during our soothing Sunday dinner, BT and Ariana both agreed that it was time for me to have another baby. Clearly, in an effort to restore sanity and reason to my dear husband and eldest child who had taken leave of their senses, I should have rushed upstairs to rouse our two slumbering pills.

But, instead, I did the “redirect” trick that BT is so masterful at. When he is asked a question he doesn’t want to answer or is presented with a situation to which there is no easy solution (or at least not one that is to his advantage), he subtly changes the subject. And suddenly, you can’t remember what you’d asked him about. Very sneaky.

Anyway, I asked Ariana if she knew where babies come from. “Sure,” she said, and then she proceeded to describe the process using some very technical terms and even included an explanation of why Dads don’t have babies.

Because I have a sneaking suspicion that she will enjoy re-reading her ingenious explanation someday, I asked her to write it down:

I’m definitely going to keep my mouth shut while I sleep!