"What are they called?"
"Umm, that's mummy's chest."
"Mummy, how did I get in your tummy?"
Thanks to whoever told him it was a special seed; it means I can continue avoiding the question.
And my personal favourite at the moment:
"How did I get out of your tummy?"
"How do you think I got out?"
I have a friend to thank for that answer, completely turns it around and exempts me from having to deal with the situation. Although, said friend actually had a c-section which is a far easier birth to explain to a child.
I'm all for not telling lies to children; I had a loving mother who wrapped up answers in cotton wool to protect me, all done with the best of intentions. However, it now means that I won't have people lie to The Boy; we just water down how much truth we tell him.
The problem is that (in the same as I still have to go to the toilet before meals) I have learnt behaviour resulting in difficulty answering certain questions. Years of not calling body parts their proper names (it was just a front bottom or a back bottom) and of not being comfortable with my own skin, means that my son doesn't really know what I look like underneath my uniform of black. I've never showered in front of him, although he has seen me in underwear when getting changed.
I didn't breastfeed past three weeks and none of my friends have had breastfeeding children since he was under two years old, so he's never seen the female breast in a natural environment. He flobbles me on my cleavage, when he was an older baby he used to tuck one of his hands down my cleavage (in case he forgot where it was, I think), and occasionally he looks down my top to check the unnamed items are still there. I know that I can call them 'breasts' or even 'boobies', but calling them boobies sounds a little Sid James-esque and intrinsically wrong from a three year old boy. Likewise 'breasts' makes him sound like he's about to perform a mammogram.
But it's the 'how he was birthed' issue which is causing me problems.
As a teacher I know all the theory; only answer enough to satisfy their initial question, then provide a titbit more information each time. When it's your own child, it's a different kettle of fish. DO I present him with the concept of a mysterious orifice which he was squeezed out of? Because I know my son and I know what will come next:
"Can I see it?"