“But Mom, couldn’t you have thought better?”

“But Mom, couldn’t you have thought better?” My oldest son looks at me in astonishment. It’s as if I’ve demolished a bus shelter after a night out and have to report to the Halt office.

Think it over. Well. Could have happened.

“Maybe you’re right, Lew,” I reply. “But sometimes things happen in life that don’t go as planned.”

“I just think it’s stupid.”

‘Ah. fair point. But, it’s also fun. However?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, dude…’ I think feverishly. What—for God’s sakes—are you telling your ten-year-old son about having a sister? And he clearly doesn’t like that. I’ve been getting the full blast for two weeks since we told. ‘I’m sorry then. I understand you have to get used to it. We had to.’

“Yes, but it’s your own fault. I’ll just have to deal with it.’

The umpteenth direct hit. shit. Since when are ten-year-olds so smart and lecturing you? Since when does he sit on the chair of ‘father-gives-sermon’?

‘True. I hope one day you will like it. Becoming a girl’s big brother is very special. She’s probably going to look up to you a lot.’ In the meantime I continue to eat and look enthusiastically at my youngest of eight, who has been enjoying it since the first second.

“Can we call her Trollie?” he suggests.

“Oh yes, Trollie sounds unique!”

“Trollie sounds retarded.” Lewis still disagrees.

“Mommy,” Miles continues imperturbably. I see him proudly thinking: I came up with the name for the baby and it will be Trollie. “How are babies made?”

‘Uhhh…’

‘Yes mom?’ echoes Lewis. “Just explain.”

Oh God.

“Well,” I begin. Come on, I’ve been teaching sex education for years. I can certainly explain to my children how babies are made, in not too complicated (and offensive) language. Two pairs of curious children’s eyes look at me. My boyfriend is on exercise, so I can solve this fine question myself. ‘It’s like this…’ I continue faltering. “If … if you love someone very much, you’re going to kiss each other naked, and d–“

“Can I play Fortnite?” Miles is already tired of my utterly ridiculous explanation. Lewis rolls his eyes. What a shit story.

‘Sure. Bye.’ I smile and am glad that the most complex part can wait a little longer. As long as they don’t think babies will come from naked kissing. Lewis sits for a moment, his gaze changes.

‘Mom? When that baby comes, huh… am I going to be replaced?’

And that’s where the monkey comes in. Two weeks of complaining and grumbling about the sister and now it’s clear to me why. It’s pure fear. Poor kid.

“Of course not, dear.” I sit next to him and give him a hug. ‘Replace you? Never.’

She is a counselor in secondary special education, an author at De Fontein publishers, mother of two boys aged ten and eight, recently divorced and expecting a daughter with her new boyfriend. So nothing boring about it. That is why we would like to introduce you to our new columnist: Ellen Rink.