Potty Party

Time Warp! What happened?

2008 and I'm talking about a flaccid 4 year old at a wedding, and now it's 2012, and I have another 4 year old (and the previous one is 8). Something to be said for that. My "new" 4 year old's nickname is "time warp". There's an eternity that passes between the time I decide to do something and when it actually happens, including opening her car door and waiting for her to get out (or get in - even worse).

((Here I am again. My head's above water. HA! And I'm trying not to simply spew the last four years into the WYSIWYG editor. I will do my best to not have it act as my therapist...))

So, the difference between 4 and 8 is a big one. It's all about questions, and well, answers for that matter. Doubling a kid's age, exponentially expands the complexity and, ahem, "uncomfortableness" of what they ask you. Not only what they ask you, but how it fits into the very large social realm of peers, and pop culture, and honesty, and what mommy and daddy do.

I have this alter-ego of myself, that's very much like June Cleaver. She's a perfect mom, full of sugar and spice and everything nice. She never snaps, she never has a hair out of place, and for goodness sakes, she never gets crazy at a party with her friends! She's got a nice little nuclear family, and that seems to be enough. No village for this woman... she's got Ward, and that seems to be enough.

Alas, times have changed, and we've got facebook, XTC, websites for having discreet affairs, fake leather, and musicians with "explicit" lyrics. I simply cannot be June, in a world that holds such things. This is not to say that I partake in all of the aforementioned things. I do however "party" as a parent (gasp!), and have a crew of friends that like to do the same.

Recently, I was invited to a seven year old's birthday party. My kids are not close to him. We were not invited because of that - they came more as collateral. He did have some of his school friends there, but their parents did not stay. They dropped their kids off early, and toodled along on their way to do whatever they needed to do with the next three hours. Upon their return, they walked into a party of adults and kids (some collateral, some theirs) laughing and dancing to the latest dance tunes in the middle of the living room. The Gruet was being poured and the "house cocktail" had been critiqued by a few (of course only for the adults).

In the eyes of June, total debauchery, taboo, and a general "no no". Sex, Drugs, Rock-n-Roll. Not in front of MY kids. But, I guess Ward wasn't a punk rocker with "explicit" lyrics, and medical marijuana was unheard of, and it was before doll companies published books on what to do when you get your period.

As a mom of two girls, I've become aware, that "a period" is the start of the sentence - or the question.

My 8 year old has a very inquisitive friend. We all ski together, and before the long drive down the mountain, the girls and I usually have to pee. So, we commence on piling into one stall, and having what I call a "potty party". It's amazing what kids will ask when they know they have you trapped with your pants down. About a year ago, it started with the little silver box depository on the side of the stall. I told her it was for "trash" - had to make sure that her dad knew what she had asked AND if he wanted her to know what the little box was for. (I also must preface this with the fact that I've known this "little" girl since she was very young, and I've acted close to a second mom. She's not some random kid). So the next trip to the stall we talked about periods, and breasts, and tampons, and the big yeachy "adult diapers" that her mom had told her about in the interim. I think June only had pads back in those days, didn't she?

I have to say, that I've been pretty upfront with my oldest about the "birds and the bees". When she was five, we had a different friend (who was only 4) in the car. We drove by a place where I used to live. I mentioned it, and the conversation went something like this:

"Was I in your belly then, Mommy"
"No, not yet"
"Well how did I get in there?"
(silence, stutter)
"Well, part of you was in Mommy and part of you was in Daddy..."
(WAIT!!! BACK UP! Now the kid's thinking 'well my arm was in Daddy, and my leg was in Mommy... this is NO good.)

So we went down the seed path... "Daddy had a seed that he gave to Mommy and that's what you grew from."

Silence... and then "Well, how did the seed get in your belly?"

It's the killer question, and now I'm thinking, "wow, it would have been so much easier to say 'babies come from Heaven'", but she doesn't know what that is.

I don't want to shrug it off, or make it something that sounds secretive, or taboo, so I decide to give a very clinical answer that includes all involved anatomy (and then follow up with my Anatomy for the Artist book, when we get home). All the while her friend is silent in the back seat listening too, and I'm wondering if this is a "major faux pas" (which is what my husband said when we conceived our second child). I know her mom very well, and we're all very open. I decide that I simply got caught off guard, and that she would understand.

Pulling up her driveway, I spot her mom, flowing hippy dress, patchouli drenching the air around her.

"Ah, I hate to say it, but we just had a conversation about the birds and the bees."
Smiling broadly, "Oh she's known about that forever! I just told her that her daddy and I made loooooveeee, and that's how she was made."

I guess I underestimated THAT reaction. So much for June.

The one thing that I've told my daughter, is that even though she knows about these things, she should keep them to herself. After all, there are other kids who's parents who DO believe in Heaven. She's did very well with keeping her secret. I knew this because her inquisitive ski buddy friend brought it up in the stall, "You know you have to be married to get pregnant". YIKES! A chill ran down my spine, and I told her that she should probably talk to her dad a bit more about the subject. "Yeah, just ask him about the birds and the bees", my daughter followed with. I then proceeded to give her dad the "heads up", that she might be asking.

So, now it's a new ski season, and everybody knows about how baby's are made. It's all in the open. Things have settled, and I'm glad for our dialogues. I'd rather have my girls know what happens, than get caught off guard, or told from some other kid at school. I know they are only eight, but I also know that talk and "pressure" starts sooner now than it did for me. I don't want them to be drawn to the "taboo-ness". And I definitely don't want them to think that you can't get pregnant if you're not married.

Our "potty parties" have waned a bit, now that the girls are getting more modest about their bodies. But I'm not off the hook yet - the chairlift is another place that they catch you with nowhere to run. Ten minutes, 60 feet above ground, two kids... asking questions.

"So what does that song that says 'I've got a party in my pants, and I'm not afraid to show it' mean?"

Where the heck did they hear THAT song? Probably at some seven year old's birthday party... you know where all the parents were dancing? They didn't hear that, they're just little kids. And now I'm wondering if that registered with my four year old, and when the questions are going to start coming from her. Round two.

How quickly we go from "potty in my pants", to "party in my pants"... sometimes it just takes a few "potty parties" to get through it.