Yesterday, on the way home from visiting my grandmother, we toured an enormous dairy farm. The farm is so very very large that approximately 80 calves are born there every day. With multiple births an hour, they can make the birth process a tourist attraction, and so we were called into the birthing barn in time to see a cow deliver.
It began with what looked like a couple of little hoofs protruding from the cow's rear, just under her tail. As she labored and the feet came out further and went back in, of course some poop came out from pretty close to the same region we were all watching so intently. This was a fascinating development to my seven-year-old son, who happened to be seated between me and my mother. For some reason, he chose to ask his Nana his questions in an exchange that was pretty amusing. My four-year-old daughter was seated on the other side of my mom, and she was apparently listening in.
Son: Ew. There's poop coming out while she's having her baby.
Nana: Yeah, birth is messy.
Son: Were you messy?
Nana: I had to be cleaned up afterwards.
(Short pause.)
Son: Where did it come out?
(Pause.)
Nana: Between my legs. I'm not built just like a cow, so it's a little different.
(Long pause.)
Son: I'm glad I'm not a girl!
(Very long pause.)
Daughter: I'm glad I'm not a cow!!
