Milking It!

"Mama. What does milk it mean?" our son asked.
My eyebrows wrinkled before answering him. How in the world did he know about that?
"Where did you hear that buddy?" I smiled.
"Remember when you were talkin' to your friend on the phone the last day?" he answered.
Little nosey thang! I had a conversation recently with a friend about how much Daddy had been helping out around the house since having my surgery. She suggested I take advantage of that and "milk it" as much as I could even when I started feeling better.
How could I explain this to our little nosey, six-year-old without encouraging him to do it later and more importantly without making Mommy Dearest look bad of course?
"Well milking it is what Daddy did back when you were born," I began. "Daddy had a surgery right after Mommy had pushed out all nine pounds and eleven ounces of you."
"Yes Mama I know where babies come from," he rolled his eyes. I stopped for a moment. "From our tummies right?" I asked him.
He smiled. "No. I saw the tape," he began to hide his face. I was starting to get nervous. "Where do they come from then?"
"From your hiney," he replied, then pointed down. "I saw on that tape when you were in the hospital when I was being boring."
I tried to remember the tape. I knew Daddy had not recorded too much but wasn't sure how he concluded that it was not my belly. I wasn't ready to go there yet so I ignored that and continued to make Daddy look bad- I mean I continued with my example of "milking it".
"So Daddy had his surgery and Mama was having a hard time getting around after having you," I tried to continue.
"What kind of surgery did Daddy have?" he asked.
"Ummm. It was a surgery to stop his little soldiers from marching," I said without thinking. Now I was going to have to explain that. He was puzzled. Before he could ask I said, "Well ask your Daddy about that."
"Anywho. Daddy had his little, simple surgery that didn't take nearly as long as it did for Mama to have you and he came home."
"Did Daddy cry when he had surgery? Did they use a big, big needle?" he asked.
"No Daddy didn't cry- he was a big boy!"
I tried to wrap up the story. It was six years ago but so vivid to me. After having his "quick" surgery he had come home and told me that he needed to ice "the area" and rest. Well I understood that but we started having problems. First I was not okay with him putting the ice packs he used on "the area" BACK in the freezer once he used it. Naw!
"Uh, did you use this?" I asked him when I saw the ice pack in the freezer.
"Yes but it's not that big a deal. How else am I gonna keep the pack frozen?" he asked.
Holding it by a small corner, I pulled it out and put it in the sink. I just didn't think an ice pack that had been "on the area" should be next to my frozen strawberries. It was just the thought I guess.
"Well Daddy told Mama that he was supposed to not do anything but rest for two weeks once he had the surgery," I continued.
"So Daddy couldn't do nothing?" he asked.
"Well... Mama just happened to find a paper that Daddy forgot about, while she was hobbling around the house trying to help Daddy and take care of you and your active sister (who was two), and the paper said that Daddy was supposed to rest for ONE to TWO days."
"Daddy told a story?"
"Yes! Daddy was going to lay in the recliner, watch ESPN and MILK IT!" I told him.