My son C is a snuggler. He expresses and receives love by being physically close to people. He loves to keep me company, especially as I get ready for work in the morning. He brings me my robe and then climbs up onto the bathroom counter and watches me put on my make-up and dry my hair. “What is that for? Why do you need that?” Although these questions slow me down, I am trying to slow.down. and revel in these moments. I know they will not last forever.
This weekend, his questions were more serious.
C: “Why do you need to wear bras?”
Me: “Well, I only need a bra. And they hold up my breasts.” (I refuse to make up cute names for body parts. Just call stuff what it is.)
Me: “If I don’t they hang down too low.” (How is that for honesty?)
C: “What happens when two boys get married?” (Whoa. Six seems a little young for this conversation, but here we go.)
Me: “What do you mean what happens?”
C: “How come they can’t have a baby?”
Me: “Well, because boys don’t have the same parts inside that girls have that make the baby grow.”
C: “So, how do they get one?”
Me: “Well, sometimes they can adopt a baby. You know what that means, right?”
C: “Yeah, like cousin M and grandma.”
And that was it. No drawn out philosophical debate and no more questions. At least for now.
In the almost nine years that I’ve been a mother, I’ve learned that the more complicated I make my answers to things, the more questions there are after. Because, children are inherently honest and pure. They can spot BS a mile away and will call you out on it every chance they get. They are clean slates who know nothing. They must be taught everything: love, kindness, friendship, family, personal hygiene (oof!). And, children are taught to hate. And who teaches them these things? Us. The adults in their lives.
My husband says, “I believe that we are here to love others. And it’s my job to teach the boys to love. In the end, I will be judged by my Maker and no one else.”
There you have it.