Sometimes bath time is a minefield. As my squeaky clean child was getting his jammies on, I decided to change into sweatpants. What, I’m a mom, for goodness sake. The days of mini skirts and pumps around the house are long over. Anyway, the following conversation ensues:
Connor: “Ohhhh, I’m gonna see your butt and penis, gross!”
Me: “You’re not going to see my butt because I’m wearing underwear. You’re not going to see my penis because I don’t have one.”
Connor: “What happened to your penis?” (I swear to you, at no time have I ever had a penis.)
Me: “I’m a girl, girls don’t have penises.”
Connor: “But what about the girls at school?”
Me: “No, they don’t…” (I am vehemently interrupted.)
Connor: “WAIT, wait, wait. I mean the little girls that aren’t grown up at my school.” (As though there are different classifications of girls that I am not aware of.)
Me: “I know, they don’t have a penis.”
Connor: “No, no, no, no, no. I mean the girls at my school that aren’t the teacher.” (Apparently he thinks I’m a total moron, and cannot comprehend what he is saying.)
Me: “Still no. No girls anywhere, big or small, kids or grownups, have penises. Only boys have them.”
Connor: “Oh. I’m hungry, can I have dinner?” (It really is like talking to my husband. We went from penis conversations to dinner in 2 seconds.)
And in the very next room is….husband. Yet for some reason, every single conversation about genitals, bodily fluids, babies, and all things disgusting or reproductive have taken place with me. What does he talk to husband about? Trains and bridges. Yeah.
Honestly, what would I know about a penis? Wait, nevermind. Don’t even answer that.