Sweet Son #1 has entered the ranks of the big boys.
I was talking with him one day after school about a boy in school who scared many of the other kids. When I questioned why this little guy was feared, SS (who is only 6) replied “Because he tries to hit us and kick us in the nuts.”
After nearly choking on my Diet Coke and nearly driving off the road (all in an attempt not to laugh hysterically), I said “Really?!” His innocent sounding reply caused a repeat of the above. “Yeah. In the balls.”
A few seconds of silence ensued while I tried to think of the “motherly” thing to say next. I asked SS if he knew where his “nuts” were, and he giggled and said sheepishly, “Yeah…my WIENER!”
Oh. My. Goodness.
When exactly did I lose my sweet little guy to this euphemism-spouting big kid? It makes me crazy when parents decide that certain words simply shouldn’t pass through the mouths of their children. While I understand that emotional maturity levels vary, I’m all for use of appropriate names of body parts and the like.
I guess I am guilty on some levels. For example, when Sweet Baby Son has a “bowel movement”, I don’t call it a “bm” or “number 2”. He poops, plain and simple. Sometimes, I call it “poopies” or “big poopies”, depending on the intensity of the “movement”. I often tell him (To no avail. It appears that I don’t have a one-year-old prodigy on my hands) that if he would just look at me and say “Poo!”, I would know exactly what to do.
Somehow, though, I can’t equate poopies, nuts and balls…