PreachTeach: Blog by Erica

Have you had “The Talk” yet? You know, the one about where babies come from? My boys are six and four. I didn’t think I’d have to have it so soon.

Since the birth of their sister a year ago, my boys are continually amazed that there is something other than wee-wee’s in the world. My youngest son, at three, thought he had it figured out. After helping his daddy change his baby sister’s diaper at just a week old, he came running downstairs exclaiming at the top of his lungs, “Girls don’t have wee-wee’s. They just have butts!” Perfect. He had it all figured out.

So boys have wee-wee’s. Girls have butts. Oh, and boobies… but so do boys, kind of…

Just the other week, however, this year-long theory was found to be flawed. My six-year-old, burst open the bathroom door as I was changing. Obviously shocked by me standing there in my underwear I yelled, “stop standing there you turkey and get out!” Realizing that six was probably the age he needs to learn privacy, I prepared for that conversation while I finished getting properly dressed. Things like, “Knock before you enter a door.” Or “It’s rude to stare,” were key lessons I’d quickly prepared. However, neither of those were the lessons I taught that day.

As a mother of three does, I had managed to shuffle all three of my children into the minivan as we were, naturally, late to where we were getting. Where we were getting was to the auto glass repair shop. Just earlier that morning, my four-year-old threw a rock and shattered the rear window of the van. $350 of AWESOME!

While we are driving, on the interstate, I have my six-year-old in the back seat (opposite of the broken window), the rock-throwing culprit, in the pilot seat behind me and the baby girl in the other pilot seat. On top of the loud rush of wind and cars that we are succumbed to because of the open window, my daughter, who hates the car, is of course screaming at random just so she can make sure I know she is NOT happy to be strapped in the car, yet again! Just another day in the life, right?!

That’s when a small voice from the back of the van piped up, “Mom, did you grow a wee-wee?” Even over the wind and screams, I could tell that a lot of thought went into this question. Clearly, he had been stewing over this for the last twenty minutes since walking in on me changing. I had no idea whether to laugh or cry of embarrassment, so buying some more time, I simply said, “What, honey?”

And here is where the noise barrier became a problem.

“What?”

“I said, what did you ask?”

“What?”

Remember the culprit, who is sitting in the middle of this conversation? Well, he is also impatient and easily irritated. “She said, what did you say?” He yells at his brother.

This, friends, is where the conversation turns embarrassingly magical as a four-year-old is now the relay messenger between mother and his big brother.

“Did you grow a wee-wee?”

“No, girls don’t have wee-wees.” “No, girls don’t have wee-wees!”

“Then why were you wearing underwear?”

“Because girls and boys have private parts they need to cover up.” “Because girls and boys are private parts!”

“What are private parts?”

“They are the things you cover up with your underwear.” Repeat

“What are the private parts?”

I am trying my best to make this as developmentally appropriate as I can, without causing any real sense of misconception. I explain that private parts are what you use to go to the bathroom. That it’s important to keep them covered because they are just for you. That girls have three private parts and boys have two. Well, this just simply didn’t satisfy the curiosity of my six-year-old. So when he finally asked the difference between girls and boys’ private parts, I finally said, (Que Kindergarten Cop)

“Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina.”

“What?”

“Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina.”

“What did you say?”

Again, the impatience and irritation of this conversation are weighing in on the four-year-old stuck in the middle. “She said, girls have a bagina (ba-ji-na).”

“What did you say?”

“A bagina!”

“A what?”

“I said, A BAGINA!”

“Oh.”

Silence! Phew, conversation over. All is well. My son will no longer go around telling people his mother has a wee-wee. We spend the rest of the trip trying to get the baby girl to laugh, or sing, or do something other than scream. Just like normal.

Finally, we get to where we need to be. All four of us in a tiny lobby of an auto glass repair shop. Just as the guy hangs up the phone and asks to help us. I hear, “Mom, so you have a bagina?”

Awesome!

XOXO- Erica