A Funny Little Memory

- January 03, 2026

In 1996, we became empty nesters, a term that hadn't yet been popularized. Three were married and all five were living in different cities. I was missing those early years when we were creating our family and all the challenges that came with it. So I began to write stories, little nuggets of time that I found charming, difficult, crazy or funny. A whole collection that I promised myself I would continue to expand. But then life had a way of interfering and I sadly, abandoned that project, and turned my attentions towards a more immediate concern.

Here's a funny little one I wrote nearly thirty years ago that any new mom or dad can appreciate.

Holes

"Hi sweetheart," I say to my first born two-year-old son Matt, whom I have not seen since yesterday. My half eaten dinner tray is pushed to the side of my hospital bed. One day old Josh is wrapped like a blintz and lies across my still huge belly sleeping. He twists and, as I hold my breath hoping he will not wake up, watch as he goes limp once again.

"I miss you so much. Are you having fun with Daddy?" I feel a fissure splitting my body in two as I picture Matt holding the phone with two hands. I miss our night time story and morning hug. I'm jealous of my husband and wonder if I have enough inside me to share with this baby bird I've seen only twice in my life.

"Mommy, how'se your hole?" Matt says. I cannot fathom what he is talking about.

"Josh is fine honey. He is such a nice baby. But all he does is sleep and eat. Not like you, his big brother, who knows how to build blocks and run fast." I say.

"Yeah. Good. But how'se your hole?" I try to connect to anything in the recent past about Matt, me, Dad, the baby, the hospital, games we've played, places we've visited, books we've read. I am frantically flipping through my mind's charts, files, memos and then I peel up a tiny memory nearly forgotten.

We were on our way to my last doctor's visit when I told Matt for the tenth time that I would be gone for a few days and when I came home, I would have his baby brother or sister with me. Most of the time when I gave this news, Matt would say he d like a 'thither' please. In the office, Matt held his hand to my belly when the baby kicked and felt the thump of a foot or elbow. He listened to the heartbeat through the stethoscope.

"How'se the baby goin to get out?" he'd asked as I tied his shoe on the way home.

"Sure, we'll take the baby out with us. Babies love to ride in carriages and go to the park. Just like you" I'd answered.

"No. I mean is, how'se the baby goin to get out!" he'd said, pointing to my stomach and the muddiness in my head became as clear as water. I contemplated storks and butterflies, magic and pretend, but decided upon truth.

"Mommies have a special opening near the place they make pee pee, kind of like a hole. And the hole gets very big because it stretches so the baby can come out. And then it closes up and becomes very small again." Matt considered this concept.

"Does it hurt?" he d asked.

"A little." I lied, "but then a wonderful baby is there and everyone is happy."

Matt twisted his mouth up in one corner and then trotted off, following a Big Wheels around the sand box. He's satisfied, I thought, and returned to my book. Clearly, Matt remembered the details of that afternoon exchange.

"My hole is just fine honey. All better. And your new brother can't wait to see you." I hang up the phone just as Joshua twists his head kissing the air. I picture Matt taking his bath, listening to his Dad read Goodnight Moon as I lift my breast for Josh to nurse, petting his peach fuzz head while soothing his cheek.