misplaced mama

No Hiding It.

There are just some things you can’t get away from anymore when you have a 3 year old in tow. Basically I have a walking, talking, observation machine just ready to innocently throw me under the bus at any given moment.

Last week at the market, Mia was being shy in her tutu and blue suede boots and handmade copper tiara atop one crazy bedhead. As she often does when someone is ohhing-and-ahhing over her cuteness and extreme fashion sense, she holds my leg, sways back and forth, looking up at them with her big doe eyes and…picks her nose.

in “Mia, take your finger out of your nose, sweetie. Do you need a tissue?”

“No mama. My finger’s good.”

Of course her fans in line thought that was just too endearing.

“Mia, it’s kinda germy to pick your nose.” I was going to just drop it after I said that and let her pick. Because lets face it, I don’t care if she picks her nose. Because of deep rooted issues I have with people judging me, I felt it sort of my public responsibility to “parent” her in front of a whole line of people watching her.

“But mama, you pick your nose in the car! Remember it was bloody because it’s so dry in the desert? You don’t eat it, though, mama. Right mama? You don‘t eat it.” She did not whisper this. Oh no. Loud. And clear. Everyone heard. Everyone. I had to say something, right? I didn’t. I just busted out laughing because it’s true. I pick my nose in the car. And no, I don’t eat it. And yes, it is dry in the desert and perhaps there have been some inflamed tissues that caused bleeding.

Then today we were at our town’s Center For The Arts building using the public restroom. We had been hanging out at the annual Green Building Expo that took place on the grounds. Mia and I go into a small stall together. The bathroom was busy, full of people attending the Expo. She goes pee first. Then I go.

“Mama, where’s your underwear?”

She says this loudly.

“It’s right under my skirt.”

“Where? Here? She lifts of the little fluffy bit skirt and looks. No it’s not. Where is it?”

Has the child not realized in her 3 years of being attached at my hip that I only own like 5 pair of underwear that rarely ever get used (I stopped wearing underwear when I was pregnant with her in fact, taking the advice of the midwifes. They swore to me that my health would improve if I let my yoni breethe…especially in skirts)?

She demands: WHERE IS IT?

“SSSSSSHHHHHSHSHSHSHSHHHHSSSSSHHH”

There were people in stalls on either side of me, people I knew (perhaps they are even reading this:-)

And then just as loudly, with the biggest, cutest, most curious grin, “Why ssssshhhhhssshhhhh?”

I convinced her not to worry about it and started talking about the big green Gecko named Eco, the Gecko that was the Expo’s mascot. We were all flushed and leaving the stall and she loudly stated as if I didn’t know and other’s needed to know:

“Mama. You don’t have any underwear on.”

Fine. I don’t.

And then there was the day last week outside our local coffee place where I was filling my low tank with my daily shot of espresso and a dollop of foam.

We were leaving the establishment and outside there was a sweet little dog, not sure of the breed, looked like a mini-Lassie, hanging out in the shade of a table. It’s owner looked pretty cool, older Scottsdale new-agey type reading a book on astrology and auras. He was soft spoken and more than willing to share some time so Mia could pet his dog and chat with him about it.

“Is your dog a boy or a girl?”

“A girl. Her name is Sadie.”

Mia gets down and gives Sadie some good loving.

“I have two dogs. One is Naana, one is Thunder. Naana is a girl, she has a yoni. Thunder is a boy, he has a penis.”

She didn’t say this fast because she’s 3, but as soon as she “she has” I knew what was coming. But whatever. We all have sacred parts, right?

“And I have a yoni and mama has a yoni but dada has a penis. His penis is soooooo silly. Right mama, it’s silly. And it’s got some hair.”

And then she asks him,

“And you are a boy? And you have a penis?”

Well, there has to be a time in life where moments of utter discomfort teaches us things like why we are suppose to wear clothes (Uh, why is it again? I forget). Mia knew she said something that is ‘taboo’ (according to whom, i am not sure) talk in public with strangers. I think she may have come to the understanding by sensing the energy shift when the man answered her in a slightly different tone then the rest of the conversation had been spoken in. I am sure she felt my tension rise and got that yoni’s and penis’s aren’t small talk topics. Though interesting topics, “others” may considered inappropriate for a three year old to be describing these types of things. And see, would you look at that? I couldn’t even write down what I was thinking, I wrote “things” but was thinking “penis”. There is something about even me writing about this that makes me feel…bad…squeamish…silly…naughty. I know there is nothing wrong with it. She sees her father naked at least 5 times a week when she eagerly waits for him to get out of the shower after his workday so they can play. We talk about body parts freely at home. I teach her they are sacred. But now she’ll notice that the her world hides behind clothes.