Earlier in the Day

Chris calls the bridge and postpones his meeting with the Admiralty. Reaching for Noah's hand he says, "Come and I'll answer all of your questions."

They walk hand in hand to Chris' quarters. Inside, Chris settles on the sofa and is a little surprised when Noah climbs into his lap as his son began choosing more independence in the past few months. Noah flings his arms around his father's neck and exclaims, "I'm glad you are back!"

Chris wraps his arms around his son and savors the moment, knowing these hugs will soon be offered far less often. "Me too."

"Mama's been sad while you were gone. She thinks I didn't notice, but I did." He pulls back from the hug and looks his father in the eye. "I've been keeping her busy so she won't have time to be sad."

Oh, it will be interesting to hear what activities and questions Noah has invented to entertain his mother, Chris thinks, chuckling to himself. "Thank you for taking care of her while I was away. You did a good job."

"I was very good, just like you told me to be, even when I didn't want to."

Chris has learned sometimes it is better not to ask follow-up questions of Noah, it is better not to know what hijinks his precocious son has considered. Otherwise all of this hair would be grey. "How is school?"

"Mmmm. OK." Noah quickly veers to another subject. "You were surprised about the babies, why? Grandmother plans when one of the mares will foal."

OK, not so good then. Your mother and I were concerned about that. With his parents and paternal grandparents, Noah is usually able to converse normally, using the words he intends in the order he wants. With his honorary grandfather, aunt and uncles on board the ship, his words mostly come out right. When talking with his maternal grandparents and strangers, Noah labors, often reversing letters in words, struggling to use the correct word for the context, and periodically stammering.

"It doesn't always work that way with humans." Chris answers, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Noah's curiosity.

"Why?"

Or not. Why is his son's current favorite word. "Sometimes when adults play together, a baby is made unexpectedly." Chris is pleased with his answer for about two seconds. Then he sees the metaphorical wheels turning in his son's mind. Damn, damn, damn, you didn't play that tape to the end. With the image of Noah asking every adult he meets if they had played and made a baby running through his head, Chris quickly adds, "It is impolite to ask adults about that particular type of play. Nor should you ask a woman if she is having a baby."

Noah's brow creased in that puzzled expression his parent call 'all adults are illogical'.

Chris continues, "Your mother and I weren't planning on having another baby, or rather babies. And we are both happy that we are. Unexpected doesn't mean not wanted. It's important you remember that. And it's OK to be surprised, even about a good thing."

"Why doesn't Mama like food anymore?"

Having somewhat successfully navigated the first land mine, Chris took his time with the second. I wasn't expecting to have this conversation for several more years.

"Just like with horses," please don't repeat to your mother I compared her to a horse, "a baby human stays inside their mother so they are protected as they grow. For the first few weeks that makes their mother feel sick."

Noah tilts his head to the side as if computing. He holds his hands up about three feet apart. "How will they fit?"

Chris closed the distance between Noah's hands to sixteen inches. "They will be about that long and weigh four or five pounds each when they are born." He makes a small circle with his forefinger and thumb. "Now they are this big."

"Fascinating," Noah remarks as he raises an eyebrow. "How do they get out?"

"There are different ways." Chris holds his breath.

Noah moves on and Chris exhales. "Can I pick out their names?"

"You can help."

He nods and leans against Chris' chest, his lower lip quivering slightly with the next question, "Will Mama be OK? Elizabeth said twins were too much for her."

Chris sent a silent prayer to the patron saint for those with difficult mothers-in-law, pleading for patience. "Yes. We, and Phil, will take very good care of her and your brother and your sister."

"I'm really glad you're home." Noah repeats.

His father hugs him again, "Me too."

Noah seeks out his mother when he is heartsore, his father when he wants to feel safe. Now that his father is here to make sure everything is OK, he remembers the question no one wants to answer. Sitting up he asks, "Why did Elizabeth say it was time you were shooting blanks? I have never seen you use a phaser. What is a blank?"

Calling out to that patron saint again, Chris answers, "She was suggesting there be no more babies after your brother and sister are born."

A long pause. "Ah. So when you and Mama play together there will be no more surprises."

"Yeah." Well done, Chris thinks, pleased with himself.

Tomorrow, I will find out how the babies got into Mama. And how blanks would change that, Noah plans.

That Evening

Noah shakes his head back and forth, crosses his arms over his chest and loudly states, "No, not hungry."

"Noodles and cheese?" I ask hopefully. The intermingling aromas from his cast-off choices are pushing me to the bad side of nauseous.

He shakes his head again and gives me a withering look that clearly asks what I didn't understand about his past five refusals.

On the best days, getting my son to stop and eat is like wrangling a reluctant horse into the barn. Yes, everything in our little family is eventually illustrated with an equine metaphor. It is another trait Noah inherited from his father which I have finally, with reluctance, accepted.

On less than good days, persuading him to sit at a table and eat is a skirmish.

My normally sunny child who started his day excited, who was then overflowing with energy, bubbling with excitement and eager for adventure, is now exhausted, overstimulated, very cranky and stubbornly fighting off his need to sleep. That stubborn streak comes from his father as well.

Tonight the skirmish is on the verge of escalating into a battle. My mother-in-law's voice echoes in my head, "Let him win sometimes." Yes, to my friends' continued amazement I seek out parenting advice from my in-laws. After all, they did a pretty good job with their child.

I smile at my son. "OK, you don't have to eat if you aren't hungry. Help me put these dishes away. Then pajamas and a story?"

He nods wearily and carries all the dishes to the reclamator. Once cleaned up and ready for bed, Noah curls up by my side, looping his arm through mine. With a quiet sigh, I lay cheek on top of his head. I'm going to miss cuddling during a story, soon he will feel too grown up for it.