Overheard at the breakfast counter this morning when the kids were eating breakfast as I was trying to rub the cobwebs out of my brain and drag my arse out of bed.

“I wonder what Mom got you for your birthday today Frac.”

“As long as it’s not underwear or a button up shirt, I’m cool.”

I’m totally giving him thermal underwear and dental floss.

“Maybe she’ll get you makeup, pretty boy.”

“Whatever She-Hulk. You’re just jealous you need makeup to resemble a human. What’s that like?”

There was some good-natured punching shoving as they tried to push one another off their stools and a few yelps before they settled back in to slurp the milk from their cereal bowls.

“So, what’s it feel to be twelve, little brother?”

“Same as it felt like yesterday when I was eleven. ‘Cept now I’m two years closer to getting to learn how to drive.”

“Suckah. You are so going to cry when I get to learn NEXT YEAR. Big baby tears will fall as I wave from the drivers seat.”

Oh, my lovely daughter. You still haven’t figured out that your little brother is already two inches taller than you and will one day be stronger than you. And when he finally clues into the fact he will be able to throw you on the floor, pin you down with his weight and threaten to hork a loogie in your eyeball like my brother always did, I probably won’t be much help. I’ll be too busy laughing. Plus, I’m pretty sure the years of sibling torment you have lovingly gifted on your little brother will have earned a loogie or two.

“Whatever. So you were born first. That only means you are closer to death than I am.”

Score for the birthday boy!!

More pushing and shoving ensued, which to children who were only born thirteen months and a day apart, is as necessary to their well-beings as oxygen.

“Just think Frac, once upon a time, Mom and Dad were twelve.”

“Weird. I can’t imagine what they were like as kids.”

We were cool, buddy. Like ice cool. At least in our imaginations.

“Dorky I bet.”

Damn, I hate it when my kids are right.

Mutual snickering and some mumbled joke that I couldn’t hear had them howling with laughter as Fric and Frac high-fived one another.

“You should get Mom to tell you the story of your birth like she did on my birthday. That was cool,” Fric suggested to her brother as I finally sat up and tried to motivate myself to walk to the bathroom.

“Nah. I don’t want to be reminded I came out of Mom’s vagina, thanks.”

Neither do I kid, neither do I.

“You just don’t like the word VAGGGIIIIINNNA,” Fric snickered.

“You’re gross. I just don’t like hearing about my MOM’S.”

“Baby.”

“She-Hulk.”

“Don’t worry Frac. You’ll learn all about vaginas and sex education now that you are twelve.”

“I KNOW all about that stuff, thank you very much,” my wee boy huffed.

At this point I was about to break into the conversation before it digressed even further.

“Then you know that Mom has sex and that’s how YOU were made.”

Frac stopped and looked at his sister as I stood up to put on my slippers. “No. Mom HAD sex. Now she’s too old. I don’t think they do that stuff anymore. It takes too much energy.”

Oh my sweet delusional offspring. 34 isn’t old, my lovelies. It only feels that way when I listen to the two of you.

As I wandered into the kitchen to wish spread the birthday cheer, I realized years ago, when I was being ripped in half trying to bring forth the life of my second child, I never once thought that in 12 years I’d be eavesdropping on my kids talking about my sex life before I even had my morning coffee.

But then, 12 years ago, I was the same chick who got knocked up only months after giving birth to her first child. I wasn’t all that bright back then.

I shudder to think what I’m going to wake up to in another twelve years.

Especially if he grows up to be anything like I was.

Ugh.

*Note to self: Don’t let kids live on your couch when they are about to turn 24. My mom still reminds me of the time she found a pair of panties hidden in the couch cushions.*

*I’m not telling if they were mine.*

Quit giving me grey hairs, dammit.