Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Why Do You Pee Out of Your Bottom Mommy?

As my body becomes more and more distorted by the growing child in my belly, my boys are increasingly fascinated by how things work for me, the only woman in our house. The opportunities for questions to arise about my mysterious body are everywhere. The fact that I am rarely even allotted time to use the restroom without a gathering of 2 or 3 others (I do count my dog as an extra intruder on my time in the bathroom, it's just a little weird,) allows curiosity to abound, primarily in my four year old.

I do try to always be factual and to not appear to be flustered when answering questions about things like my body. I really want to strive for a very open relationship with my children so they feel they can talk to me about anything without judgement...well at least not any judgement to their face, I can't promise I'm not freaked to my friends behind their backs. I don't make up cute names for things and I don't avoid questions, with the exception of the millionth "why" in a series of unanswerable questions about why things are the way they are. I only have so much time and patience, I'm doing my best.

My boobs are frequently giggled about by my four year old, primarily because he likes the word boobs (which I admit is a little silly and I probably should have said the more clinical word, breast, when initially answering the what are these question). They are perceived to be significantly more silly since doubling in size with this pregnancy. (I was thinking they were significantly more attractive than my sagging tiny boobs, but what do I know.) A recent early morning attempt by me to pick up a toy off the floor resulted in Aiden's giggles and questions about why I wasn't wearing my boob protection. Bras are extremely strange to him, and I totally agree with him.

When we first told the boys that I was pregnant there were countless questions about how the baby got in there. I tried all sorts of ways to answer that question without bringing up the stork or good old fashion magic. Usually the mention of God's work will seal almost any discussion with Aiden, but every response was met with, "but HOW?" I finally explained that Daddy put something (good Lord, please don't ask what it was) inside Mommy and that connected with stuff inside Mommy and it grew into a baby, just like when we mix things together for making pancakes. Yeah, just like pancakes. Aiden accepted this answer, or just thought I was crazy and decided he should talk to someone else.

A recent trip to the restroom at Target spurred all sorts of questions. As I finished peeing, squatting over the toilet due to my disgust for public restrooms (this also allows Cole a great capability to put his head right next to the toilet and my bottom to stare at where the pee is coming from,) Aiden asked me why I peed out of my bottom? This is a legitimate question I suppose, given that all other members of our family have a visible object that that their pee comes out of, for me it probably does appear to just come out of my bottom. I told Aiden that Mommy has a vagina, which is a hole near near her bottom where the pee comes from. This was met with further questions...how big is the hole? I'm not sure, pretty small right now, I think, I hope. Does it touch my poop? I don't think so, I hope not. Does anything else come out of it? Um, at times, but most often just pee. Will a penis eventually grow out of it? Not likely. Do I wish I had a penis? Definitely not. Is that where the baby went into me? Umm....sort of?

Now, being in a relatively busy, but frighteningly quiet public restroom, I think first of the fantastic public service I have yet again accomplished by bringing my young children into close proximity of the young teen girls I hear giggling and washing their hands. I feel like I should come out and give a brief speech of how this could be you too girls. It only takes one time and you will be peeing in a small square of space while two little boys inspect and question every aspect of the process. Watch your afterschool specials and fear sex until you are ready to be having a conversation about your vagina in a public restroom with a small boy. I should tour high schools, I could really put a dent in that teen pregnancy rate.

Both boys accompanied me to the ob office a few weeks ago and Aiden could not have been more fascinated by the whole process. First, Mommy peed in a cup...out of her bottom! I then put the cup in a small cabinet that you could open on both sides of the wall....like a hidden passage way for pee! Do I poop in there too? I then changed into an outfit made entirely out of pink paper! Aiden could barely breathe at the rate he was asking questions about why the hell this all was happening? Why doesn't this happen at his doctor's office?

I brought snacks and books to occupy them since I knew I would be having an exam. Cole happily played with the matchbox car I brought and ate his snack while sitting on the carefully positioned love seat near my head. God bless his lack of genuine interest in me. Aiden, however walked to the end of the examining table and, while eating his yogurt covered raisins, literally stared in fascination through the whole process like he was eating candy during a very good movie. Yes, I did try to tell him to move back to his seat. I did try to bribe him to move. I did threaten him. The truth was though that he had a million questions for the doctor about what he was doing and he was not going anywhere, so I gave up and started brainstorming ways to raise money for the significant amount of therapy that he was going to require in future years.

I'm sure there will be a lot more of these types of questions from both the boys. I recently realized that since Cole was out of it for most of these discussions with Aiden, I will most likely have to repeat all of this for him. I should perhaps carry a tape recorder? I also am attempting to brace myself for the onslaught of questions from my future daughter about life with a penis, a discussion I feel significantly less prepared to successfully handle. Maybe I should just go back to spending more time on the fundraising for therapy?

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Just. Like. Pancakes.

Brilliant - brava Leslie, brava!