Better not be a bird in there

As the pregnancy rolls along, my son seems to be getting more and more interested in the bulge that's growing out of my wife's tummy. He points to it, touches it, pats it, and has even kissed it a few times, which is just so ridiculously cute and sweet that I'm sure the kid must be manipulating me in some way. Because that's what kids do.

So we've started trying to get across to our son that the growth in his mom's tummy is in fact not the result of too much Cherry Garcia, but rather home to a baby that will eventually come out and be his little brother. And we might be getting somewhere with it. Take, for example, this recent conversation (or paraphrase of it anyway) held not long after the little guy came home from his grandparent's house where, it must be noted, they have upon their wall a cuckoo clock that he is totally fascinated by:

Us: Mama's got a baby in her belly.

Him: Mama. Belly.

Us: Mama's belly has a baby in it.

Him: Mama. Baby.

Us: That's right, there's a baby.

Him (pointing to belly): Baby.

Us: There's a baby in there. It's gonna come out.

Him: Baby?

Us: That's right. It's gonna come out.

Him (wide-eyed): Like cuckoo?

Us: Uuuuh, yeah! Like cuckoo!