“Mommy, why is that man not wearing a shirt?!?!??!”
You cannot hear the shock and disdain in my daughter’s voice from the typing here, but believe me, it was there laid on thick and heavy.
“Because he is mowing and he’s hot.” We were walking in the neighborhood before the next round of storms hit. I prayed it would end there.
She pondered that fact for a moment. “Why don’t girls take their shirts off?”
“Girls have boobs. Boys don’t.” I braced myself for the question I was certain would follow, why boys did not have boobs…
“But that man has boobs, mommy.”
And so he did.
“Those don’t count,” I whispered.
She formed a silent “O”, as if my response made perfect sense and happily skipped back home, pausing only to jump into all of the puddles in the road on the way.
That evening, watching the old Super Friends cartoon series:
“Mommy, who is that?”
“Wonder Woman! She sure is an amazing super hero, isn’t she?” I was secretly gratified that she could see it was not an exclusive boys club.
“Why isn’t she wearing pants?”
“Those are just really short shorts.”
“No, mommy. Those are panties. You don’t let me wear only panties.”
It was an accusation.
“It’s a swimsuit,” I offered.
She shook her head.
“A ballet leotard?”
She shook her head again.
“A skirt would get in the way of her high kicks when she is taking out bad guys?”
She formed the silent “O” of understanding and nodded her head solemnly.
“I can kick bad guys.”
“Sure you can sweetie.”
“So…. can I wear only panties?”