Mommy, why is your tummy so fat?
Mommy, why are your boobs so wobbly?
Mommy, why do your legs look bumpy in that dress?
And the list goes on and on and on. I follow Emily, a fellow blogger whose mostly mommy and child related posts often have me in stitches, or deep in pensive thought. She posted this earlier, and I could relate to it. Apart from the pregnancy bit (not yet at least 😉 ) I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The amount of times I’ve been in a dressing room (I hate dressing rooms) and M-L has been with me sitting so quietly on the little chair in the room, when out of nowhere, as I’m standing in the garish light, all of my flaws exposed, she quips “Mommy, why is your tummy so fat? And why does it have all of those lines on it?” Cue instant scarlett tones of red creeping up the sides of my cheeks (who needs blusher) and a mad dash to get dressed and vacate not only the dressing room but the entire shopping mall as quickly as I can.
M-L has lately taken to playing with my boobs (hell, someone has to so it might as well be her) and I have actually become oblivious to it. I’ll have her on my hip, looking at something, or talking to someone, and either my husband will sternly tell her stop, or whomever I happen to be talking to awkwardly halts the conversation, as the image of my 4 year old juggling my wobbly boobs has forced the person to completely forget what the hell they were talking about. I honestly don’t mind (read – don’t care) but I do understand that it’s not right. For example, yesterday M-L did the same thing to her teacher as she was saying good-bye to her. I wish I could have snapped up the look on the teacher’s face when her assets were juggled. Maybe she too has forgotten what it feels like 😉 But in all seriousness I did speak to M-L, telling her that it was wrong. She doesn’t quite understand why yet, but we’ll get there.
I think my best embarrassing-mommy-moment was about 18 or so months ago, when M-L and I were in the queue at the supermarket, and 2 ladies were behind us. They weren’t from our province, as the language that they were speaking was unlike I’d ever heard of before. It was beautiful, but very fast, and actually mindboggling. M-L was sitting on the till counter, watching these 2, listening intently, when she just opened her mouth and tried to imitate the women. What came out her mouth was of course gibberish, and might have actually been highly insulting in some other language that I wasn’t aware of, and it was at that point in time that I vowed to never take her out shopping with me again. The 2 women looked at each other, smiled and then laughed. M-L of course laughed right back, and the 3 of them had a gibberish filled conversation for the next few minutes. I did ask the ladies where they were from (I’ve since forgotten) and what language they were speaking (also, no clue) and explained to them that M-L was just trying to copy them. They said that it was no problem, and that they really enjoyed ‘talking’ with M-L. Once we left the till, I couldn’t get out of the supermarket fast enough!
I think that’s one of the most beautiful things about children; they are so open and honest and raw, that us adults who are so closed and hidden and guarded from the world, don’t actually know how to handle what they sometimes say. Without sugar coating it, my tummy is wobbly and fat and has lines all over it. My boobs are wobbly (thank god for decent bras) and I don’t wear anything with a thin material on my legs because hey, they’re lumpy!! But we as adults will find some way of twisting it, whether to better someone (or ourselves) or to bring them down further. Kids, they don’t give a shit. They say it like it is.
The problem is, if I say it like it is..
I won’t have a job..
I won’t have a husband..
And I sure as hell won’t have my sanity!