"Certainly, dear child; where else could they come from?"
"But," he says, "Mamma, do potatoes come from potatoes?"
"Why, honey," I said, "Orange babies come from orange mammas, potato babies from potato mammas, grapes come from grape mammas, little kitties from kitty mammas, and little boys from their mammas."
We simply mixed all the babies up, just as you would mix up a delicious fruit salad. We took from the mind all question of mystery and surprise by quickly and honestly answering his question. Thus, his first knowledge of his origin, if he is able to recall it, will ever be associated with oranges, grapes, potatoes, kittens, etc.
We did not tell the whole story for some two or three years later, but day by day we simply answered the questions as he asked them.
One day, when he was about three, he burst into my bedroom, saying, "Mamma, dear, I did come from you, didn't I?"
"Why, yes, darling, from nobody else; just from your own mamma and papa."
"Say, mamma, was my hand in your hand, my foot in your foot, my head in your head?"
"No, dear," I replied, "You were all curled up as snug as a little kitty is when it's asleep, and you slept for nearly a year in a little room underneath mamma's heart."
It was a wonderful story. He threw his chubby arms about my neck, his legs around my waist, and said: "You dear, dear, mamma. I do love you and papa more, just awful much."