Magic Box
One of the only things that is consistent when you become a parent is… advice. You get it and give it, and as much as I try to stay away from giving it, because I am far from being an expert on anything, I am just as guilty. One bit of gift advice every parent hears from every other parent, during the gift giving season, is “Your kid will like and play with the box more than the contents of that box.” It’s sad but true! And like most people this time of year, in preparation for Christmas, we have been getting a lot of deliveries in a lot of boxes, which means my five year-old is in heaven! For some unexplained reason, Azul always ends up in a box and always has.
There must something magical about a box, some draw we lose as adults, just like the desire to skip everywhere you go, or dancing with your whole body and not being worried if someone is watching, or laughing so hard you flop to the ground. Or maybe there is no magical draw, but something much deeper, all of it could just be the magic of being a child. Next delivery, I’m going to follow Azul’s advice and play in a box too; maybe I can let go of adulthood for a little while and rediscover the magic of childhood. Sometimes some of the best parenting advice you can actually get, comes not from another parent, but from your child.
Oh Baby!
My sister just had twins, so leading up to their birth, there has been a lot of talk about babies and the inevitable questions of procreation were shot out at me like a machine gun. The first one Azul asked was, “How do the babies come out?” My initial thought was, whew, at least he didn’t ask how they got in, and I replied very confidently, “Through the birth canal.” Good thinking me! That bought me some extra time, was my next thought. He didn’t quite understand what a birth canal was and it just went over his head. I dodged a bullet. A few days later, and now that he knows the babies come out through the birth canal, he wanted to know how they got in, in the first place. And again, this round of shots came at an inopportune time and I was not ready to delve into the subject, so I very carefully explained, “When a man and a woman love each other very much, they go to a fertility doctor, who then makes a baby and puts it in the woman.” We both laughed and the conversation moved on. Now, I wasn’t lying to him, that is what happens in many cases and I know more and more couples who do it that way than the good old-fashioned way.
The morning the babies were to be born we talked about it again. This time while comfortably cuddling in my bed in the early morning. He asked, “Are the babies going to be pooped out?” Which seems like a logical conclusion, since he is familiar with the digestive system. He knows when food goes in his stomach it is eventually pooped out, and it proved that he did take some time to think about it by himself. So, I praised his efforts and thought process and then said, “When the babies are born they will go through the birth canal and the out the vagina, that is a woman’s pee-pee.” (And yes, I am going to stick to the term pee-pee for now! He’s only five!) He looked at me wide-eyed and said, “They must be tiny babies to come out your pee-pee!” And then laughed. In full baby talk now, I continued the explanation and concluded with, “A woman’s body is amazing and is made to support babies and give birth to them.” Still looking at me said, “Show me on you.” I laughed and said, “Oh, we’ll get you a book!” And we did.
The book was very cute and talked about some bodies having a uterus and some not, and sometimes having a baby hurts a little and sometimes it hurts a lot. (I am calling bullshit on this, it hurts a lot!) At the end of the story, Azul, launching the last bomb, said, “I’m glad I don’t have a uterus. It won’t hurt me at all.” And that was what he got out of all the baby talk, he doesn’t have a uterus, so it won’t hurt him. Sigh!
Ice Cold
One of the worst sounds you can hear as a parent is your child banging into something and hurting themselves. And it happens to everyone—all the time! Azul is just as active as any five year-old, running and jumping and falling. One night he was running around in the living room and tripped on, what I would imagine was a random Lego piece or masterpiece, I’m not sure which, and fell right into his easel. As soon as I heard his arm crush against the frame, my immediate reaction was to run to him to help, and so I did.
When I got there, which took seconds, he was crying and holding on to his arm. He looked at me and yelled, “Don’t just stand there! Get me some ice!” Oh my! I thought as I did as I was told. Well, at least he didn’t add “Woman!” at the end.



