The Birds and The Bees

Last night Naomi asked me where I got her.

I told her I was confused...where did I get you?

Yes Mama. She said.

Where did you get me?

I told her I didn't understand her question.

Did you get me from Target Mama? She asked.

I smiled and giggled a little.

Nope. Naomi. Not Target.

I got you from God and from a miracle. You are magic.

She accepted that answer.

Later I realized I think she was asking about the birds and the bees and I missed it.

I usually say things about how she grew in my belly when she was a baby and all that jazz.

I'm sure we'll weather the birds and the bees conversations as well as any mom and daughter. I want to be honest with her and I'm sure I will.

What I want to tell her (and not because I want to avoid the details) is that I got her from dreams and dew on the grass in the morning, from the sounds of birds singing and warm afternoons with a good breeze, that she comes from moose prints and the night sky full of stars I can't chart, from the crunchy sound of snow, the oozy feeling of mud between my toes, from wild flowers and wild horses and from fairies and tears and jack rabbits that run all criss-crossed and stones rubbed smooth by water and wind and the smell of sheets that dried outside and strawberry jam and the relief of aloe on a sunburn.

From all of those things.

And from so many others.