So, it’s been a while. I would have written sooner, but I only wanted to say bitchy things. Today is a new day, though! The sun is shining, my hair is greasy, my oatmeal was funky, and Snert is happily entertained by cousins. Conditions are perfect. (Please tell me you know that line, or do I need to link to this video AGAIN?)
I just overheard Snert’s cousin ask him, “Do you know what pwegnant means?”
“Yeah, it means you’re about to have a baby,” Snert answers. (You might wonder how he knows that when he’s never seen me pregnant, but everyone we know is pregnant 100% of the time. Oh shoot, I guess the bitchy isn’t totally out of my system.)
“Yeah, and then she POOPS the baby out! Ha ha ha,” snickers the cousin.
“Yeah, she POOPS the baby out and flushes it down the toilet… ha ha ha!” Snert answers. He has no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s always been one to up the ante.
I crept down the hall, wondering at what point I’m supposed to put a stop to it all, and what on earth I’m supposed to say when I do. Is this typical boy potty humor? Is it a big deal?
“This is funny… hee hee hee,” laughs Little Girl cousin. I can tell by her voice that she’s having the same reaction I am. It’s part funny, part disturbing, part probably-shouldn’t-be-talked-about, and part “isn’t that kind of true?”.
Having grown up a prude, these are situations I don’t navigate easily. I didn’t say the names of certain body parts until well into my twenties, and it took serious thought and effort on my part to use anatomical terminology with Snert, instead of calling his business his “shooter” or his “P” or his… business. To this day I have to be careful to examine my thoughts on these things. Sometimes my reaction is the gut reaction I had for so much of my life, the one that says “This is pretty much the WORST thing we could be thinking about or talking about, and forget about doing anything, or you might as well just light yourself on fire. Unless you’re married, then it’s cool…?”
(Nobody actually taught me that in words, but a kid can learn more than you think from what isn’t talked about. So when these special lovely BODY type of situations come up it takes a moment for me to re-direct myself, and remember that that’s not what I believe any more. That’s not what the Church teaches (quite the opposite), and it’s not how I want to live my life.)
I stood outside the doorway for a minute, sifted through my layers (and layers and layers) of thoughts/feelings/experiences on the issue, and determined that the kids weren’t being pervy, they were just being kids, and the joke for them was much more in the repetitive use of the word POOP than anything else. I probably could have just let it go, but I was tired of hearing POOP and so I said “Hey, it’s not polite to talk about POOP, and of course a person doesn’t POOP out a baby, you goofs!”
Poop poop poop.
As soon as it was out of my mouth I froze in terror, realizing that I had just opened the door to the second-most horrifying conversation EVER (the first being, you know). Where Does A Baby Come Out?
That question is so scary that my sister-in-law once told her daughter that babies come out of your belly button. And she’s a nurse. Also, I don’t quite know how the little cousins’ parents are navigating these dicey (I mean BEAUTIFUL) waters. Also, I haven’t had nearly enough coffee for that today. Also auughghghghghg!
Glory hallelujah, there were no follow-up questions, digestive or reproductive. But I want to know, what would you do? Did I play that right? Should I have ignored the whole thing, or given spanks all around (kidding), or what?