As the mother of little boys, modesty and privacy are two things that I rarely experience. If I take my chance to enter the bathroom, alone, it's not long before four little sets of fingers begin reaching through the gap at the bottom of the door.
"Mommy, what are you doing?"
"I'm thirsty."
"Are you pooping?"
"Can I have a cookie?"
"Are you almost done?"
My quiet time finally comes when my husband gets home. While he occupies the kids, I take my nightly bubble bath. I soak in the hot water with a washcloth over my face and I forget that there is anyone else in the world.
For a few minutes, at least.
During one of my bubble baths, Jackson tapped impatiently on the door.
"Mommy, I have to go to the potty."
Oh well, I was about to get out anyway. I pulled the plug, wrapped a towel around myself, and opened the door. Jackson sat on the potty doing his business while I tried to discreetly get dressed. Jack sighed, dreamily.
"Mommy, I can't wait until I grow up and get big boobs, like yours."
I stifled a giggle and told him that I am girl and he is a boy. Girls get boobs; boys don't.
He was not convinced.
"Well, Daddy's a boy and he has boobs."
This time, I giggled out loud.
"Oh, Jack, he does not."
"Yes, he does," he replied. "I've seen him get out of the shower. He's really got boobs."
I took great pleasure in relaying the story to Michael, who was not amused and fiercely defended his man boobs.
"It's muscle," he insisted.
Again, I stifled a giggle.
When I was young, I dreamed of having little girls. Little girls who would want to be like me and play Barbies, wear makeup, and let me curl their hair. I grew up to have little boys, who wrestle, put worms in their pockets, and..... want boobs like mine.
Henry got into the boys' art kit, the other day, and strategically blotted a stamp on each of his cheeks. "Mack-ut!" he proudly proclaimed. (translation: "Make-up!")
I spend a lot of time with my boys, so it's no wonder that they want to be like me. I know it won't last long. Someday, I will be begging them to spend time with me, instead of begging for privacy.
It's only a matter of time before they want to be like their dad and they won't need me anymore. There is a special bond between fathers and sons, one that is similar to the bond between mothers and daughters... one that I will never get to experience with my children. My husband will get to do the important things with our boys. He'll get to teach them how to shave, how to tie a tie, how to pick up girls, how to work on their pecs....
Okay, nevermind... maybe they'll still need me, a little.
