Thursday, 17 November 2011

Hellllooooo China!

Cookie pic by Arvind Balaraman
 When I was recently pregnant with my daughter, my Firstborn son was two turning three. So we'd well and truly entered the realm of toilet training, learning about our body's 'bits and pieces' and baby growing in mummy's tummy.

Now, I am doing my best to be one of those truthful Mums that use the real names of things and answer the questions as best and as simply as I can. Even so, I think it just sounds SO weird to hear Penis and Vagina being said by a little un. My own baggage, I know. So instead I opted for Peepee and Gina, thinking that they sound pretty close to the proper words and won't be such a hurdle to jump when we later switch.

Man, I was so proud of myself. I'd stepped over the awkwardness, been upfront and I wasn't passing on my hang-ups to my boy. I felt I had helped changed the world somehow: the next generation is going to be unhindered - no sexism, no racism, respectful of others. And all because of me, PowerMum!

Can you see the fall coming?

Seven months preggers and I couldn't face cooking after another long day at work. So we decided to call on 1800 SPRINGROLLS. Loaded son and father off to hunt and gather (and enjoy 15 minutes of peace while they were gone). Boys return laden with rice and other Asian goodies to tuck into but my Gentleman looks unusually flustered. He recounts the trip to the restaurant.

Apparently Firstborn enjoyed the male bonding time en route and decided to check in with Dad about Man- Things. "Dad, you are a boy an you have a Peepee". Hearing agreement, Firstborn continues, "An I am a boy an I have a Peepee".

"But girls don't have Peepees, they have Chinese".

It could've been worse. My Gentleman is relieved Firstborn didn't talk to the lovely, elderly restaurant lady who gives this golden-haired cherub prawn crackers every visit about eating Ginas.

Quick smart we set about clarifying and reinforcing that girls have Ginas (g-g-g) NOT Chinas. I even remembered to mention the innocent misunderstanding to his sweet and proper Asian carer at daycare so she wouldn't get a shock (and wonder what we were telling our son at home).

So two months later, believing the issue to have been dealt with and having written the story down as one for the 21st birthday, I really shouldn't have been surprised when Firstborn looked lovingly at his fair, red-headed and blue-eyed little sister and asks me,

"Mama, did Baby come from your China?".

This parenting gig keeps me on my toes! How have you explained the 'bits and pieces' and 'birds and bees' questions your monkeys have come up with?

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