Husband and I have been talking about modesty for awhile. I don’t want my sons to have any embarrassing memories of their mother, so I’ve been trying to be more mindful of what I wear around the house.
This can be a problem, though, when you have more than one child. They all have to come with me to the bathroom, to the dressing room, etc. I can’t exactly leave a three-year-old and a 10-month-old unsupervised. Combine this with the fact that ONE is extremely inquisitive, has an excellent memory, and notices everything. Every. Thing.
Last week, ONE asked me, yet again, how babies are made. The kid is three. I wanted to yell “STOP ASKING ME THAT DAMMIT!” but instead I gave him a vague reply about mommies and daddies that love each other have babies sometimes. He totally wasn’t satisfied with this. He said in an exasperated tone, “No, Mommy. HOW. HOW are they made.”
I steered off that topic thank God and then he said that he wished he had been allowed to go to the hospital with me when TWO was born. He wanted to see how he came out of my tummy. And then he flat-out asked me, “HOW did TWO get out of your tummy?” So … I told him.
Me: Out of my vagina.
ONE: Whaaaaaaat? (starts laughing hysterically)
ONE: How? That’s where you pee! That’s a tiny hole! HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN MOMMY??
Ugh. At this juncture I said we’ll talk about it when he’s older and then I said a silent prayer that he’d forget about it — and if he remembered, he’d ask his daddy.
Fast forward several days. We found ourselves at the library. I had to pee so we went to this teeny tiny bathroom located right smack in the middle of the Children’s Section. It was cramped in there with the stroller, and before I could stop him ONE exclaimed in his very loud voice, “MOMMY! Is that where Asher came out? Wow! That’s so tiny! And he’s so big! HOW DID YOU DO THAT MOMMY??”
As the three of us made our way out of the bathroom, I did my best to look dignified while at the same time wishing for the Curious George section to swallow me up. And if you’re thinking no one heard, think again. That bathroom is like an echoing canyon and there is no fan to hush the sound.
Apparently this is the price you pay for trying to be age-appropriate honest with your children. But I can’t lie to my son, and I can’t hide things from him. That boy asks questions, and I mean a lot of them. Maybe he’ll be a loud-mouthed doctor one day.