Davis is a boy of repetition. Each morning we eat the same thing for breakfast (cereal, mostly Frosted Mini Wheats) and have the same conversation.
Davis points proudly to his empty cereal bowl.
Me: "What? Where did all your cereal go?"
Davis, pointing to his belly: "In my belly!"
Me: "Let me see." And I tickle his belly.
One morning there was a deviation from the normal exchange. Following the tickling, Davis said,
"The heart man can open my belly and see inside."
Me:????? After a moment of recovery, I asked, "The heart man? You mean like a doctor?"
Davis: "Yeah. The doctor can open my belly and check out my frosted mini wheats."
And then we moved on to other important breakfast conversation. To say the least, I was slightly perturbed (a weird word, but I couldn't think of a better one) about what he had said and I had no idea where he had heard about this heart man who could open his belly.
So, about two weeks later, we had the same conversation and Davis mentioned the heart man who could open his belly and see his cereal (he may have called him a doctor this time, I can't remember). This time I was a little more prepared.
Me: "Where did you learn about this heart man?"
Davis: "In school when I was big like Daddy."
Me: ??????? Not quite the answer I expected. Davis has never been to school, not even preschool. Unless you count nursery. And, although it might be quite obvious, Davis has never been "big like Daddy." So the mystery continues, as do the enlightening breakfast conversations.