The other day I was babysitting Jacob. He’s three years old, was adopted from Kazakhstan, and his mom is expecting (a baby girl!). We were getting our shoes to go outside and play with his Frisbee — it’s funny how little kids can actually throw a Frisbee pretty well — when he stops and asks me a question.

Jacob: Did I come out of your tummy?
Me: No, you didn’t.
Jacob: Well, then who’s tummy did I come out of?
Me: Your mom in Kazakhstan had you. You came out of her tummy.
Jacob: Was it messy?
Me: Probably.
Jacob: Why was it messy?
Me: Because it’s messy in there.

This is the boy that starts all of his stories with, “Once upon a time there was a little, little boy named Jacob from Kazakhstan…”

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