My sweet, blonde, curly haired boy with the Disney Princess eyes came up to me and said mournfully "Mommy, I wish I was still little."
I picked him up and cuddled him in my lap because truly he is IS still quite little. "Why do you want to be little?"
"I don't know.”
“Do you wish you still nursed?” I ask this question perhaps partly out of my own mournfulness. I lactated for almost 10 years, and I still struggle to believe this time has passed forever.
“Yeah…” “Sorry, buddy, mommy doesn’t have any more milk!”
At this point my 9 year old interrupts this sweet moment I am having with my still fairly recently weaned child. “Why don’t you get some milk from the fridge and put it in your udders?”
MY WHAT? I was too shocked by his verbiage to even bother explaining the mechanics of why THAT wouldn’t work.
“Breasts, son. They are called breasts.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to teach Felix a bad word.”
“Since when are the scientific names of a person’s body parts bad words, son?”
“Then why do you get mad at me when I say the parts of MY body?”
This is a classic bait and switch. I am not fooled.
“Because when you talk about your body you aren’t doing it for any purpose except to be crass. You aren’t being scientific. Just impolite.”
“Hey mom…what do you think of my scientific penis?”
I have a long way to go with this kid.