Like many kids his age, my three-year-old son, Max, has become curious about bodies. Recently, he asked me, “Where’s your pee-pee button?” mixing up the terms in his innocent way.
“Mommies don’t have pee-pees,” I explained. “Mommies are girls, and boys have pee-pees.” From the start, my partner and I have embraced an open approach to discussing our bodies with Max. We believe there’s nothing to be ashamed of, even if we don’t hit the gym as often as we did pre-baby. We want him to view his body as natural, strong, and healthy.
While I change into my pajamas right in front of him, we also introduce concepts of privacy. Just a few weeks ago, at the dinner table, Max excitedly revealed his underwear trick, exclaiming, “Mommy! Look at this!” I gently reminded him that while it’s fine to explore his body, it’s best done in private, not at the dinner table. As he’s gotten the hang of potty training, he’s starting to grasp the idea of needing privacy in the bathroom, often calling me in for help getting dressed or wiping.
We have ongoing discussions about appropriate behavior in public versus at home, but I still change into my bathing suit in front of him without hesitation. Or at least, I did until recently.
One day, he pointed at my chest and asked, “What are those, mama?” His question felt simple, like the one about the pee-pee button.
But my breasts tell a different story. After my bilateral mastectomy, they were reconstructed into a form that resembles breasts, although with scars and tattooed nipples. On the upside, they don’t sag, but they’ve lost a lot of sensation due to nerve damage. I often wonder how to explain this complex reality to Max.
Above my reconstructed breasts lies a power port, a small device implanted under my skin, similar in size to a nickel. It’s used for my chemotherapy infusions, which I still receive every three weeks. “What’s that?” he asks, looking at his own nipples with curiosity.
“No, sweetie. That’s not a nipple. That’s where I get my medicine.”
To my surprise, he responded, “I know.” A wave of emotion washed over me.
I briefly told him they were my breasts and clarified that the port isn’t a nipple. However, I know there will come a day when I must share more with him — about my Stage 4 breast cancer diagnosis when he was just five months old, how I had to wean him quickly to start chemotherapy, and the ongoing battles I face. But I’m not ready for that conversation just yet.
For now, I tell him he has a penis and a belly button, whereas I have one but not the other. He’s amazed to learn that his belly button is the spot where we were connected when he was in my belly. I share that sometimes I feel tired and need a nap, just like him, and we can cuddle on the couch for some extra show time.
For now, I try not to stress about the future or the words I’ll need when more complicated questions arise about our bodies and what they endure. If you’re interested in understanding more about parenting through challenges, check out this insightful article on intracervicalinsemination.com/blog.
In summary, parenting comes with its own set of challenges, especially when health issues are involved. Open conversations about bodies and privacy are essential, and while difficult discussions may loom ahead, focusing on the present allows us to enjoy each moment with our children. For those exploring family planning, Make a Mom is a great resource, as well as Parents.com for invaluable information on pregnancy and home insemination.