As children often do, my three-year-old son has begun inquiring about anatomy. Recently, he asked, “Where’s your penis button?” merging two distinct terms into one.
I explained, “Mommies don’t have penises. Mommies are girls, and boys have penises.” My partner and I have always embraced openness about our bodies in front of him, viewing them as natural and healthy, despite not being as physically active since his arrival. We aim for him to perceive his body as capable, strong, and worthy of respect.
We introduce concepts of privacy alongside everyday activities, like changing into my pajamas in front of him. When he excitedly revealed his penis at the dinner table a few weeks back, eager to show me a trick with his underwear, I reminded him that self-exploration is a private matter, not something we do during meals. As he transitions to potty training, he’s learning to value privacy in the bathroom, though he quickly calls for assistance when it’s time to get dressed or cleaned up.
This ongoing dialogue about privacy includes understanding what is appropriate in different settings. I have no reservations about changing into my swimsuit in front of my son — or at least I didn’t, until recently.
He pointed to my chest and asked, “What are those, Mama?” This inquiry, though seemingly straightforward like the previous one, felt more complex. My breasts have undergone significant changes; after a bilateral mastectomy, they are now reconstructed but bear scars and lack sensation. The nipples have been replaced by tattoos, a stark reminder of my journey. Above them lies an implanted power port, about the size of a nickel, which is used for administering chemotherapy.
“What’s that?” he asked, comparing it to his own nipples. My heart tightened as I explained, “This isn’t a nipple; this is where I receive my medicine.” To my surprise, he responded, “I know.”
In that moment, I realized the conversations we will have in the future about my health and body are inevitable. I will need to share with him my diagnosis of Stage 4 breast cancer when he was just five months old, how I had to wean him abruptly to begin chemotherapy, and the reality of living with recurring cancer. I’ll need to explain my fears and the ongoing nature of my treatment, as there is still no cure.
But that conversation isn’t for today. For now, I share with him that he has a penis and a belly button. I enliven his curiosity by explaining that his belly button is where he was connected to me when he was in my womb. I also tell him that some days I feel tired, just like he does, and that we can enjoy extra cuddle time on the couch when that happens.
At this stage, I aim to manage my apprehension about how and when to address more intricate questions regarding our bodies and their functions in the future.
This post is just a piece of the broader conversation about parenting and health. For more information on home insemination, you can explore this link. If you’re looking for authoritative resources, visit Cryobaby’s home insemination kit or check out Progyny’s blog for insights on pregnancy and infertility.
Summary
Navigating discussions about body awareness and health with young children can be challenging, especially for parents facing medical issues. The author shares her experiences with her son’s inquiries about anatomy and the importance of fostering an open dialogue about privacy and health. As she prepares for deeper conversations about her own health challenges, she emphasizes the value of transparency and comfort in discussing bodies.
Leave a Reply