Defending the Young Man Hair

Since Laylee’s gone back to school, Magoo has become my little shadow, following me around everywhere, inviting me to join him in game playing and talking nearly nonstop. It’s like he couldn’t get a word in when Laylee was home and now he’s gonna let it all fly. He’s also pretty emotional. I think he misses her, while enjoying his new found, and soon to be cut short, alone time with Mom.

This morning he had a play date with a friend which was really orchestrated for my benefit so I could take a morning nap for a couple of hours. My friends are really good to me. After my baby shower last night I started feeling guilty about the fact that more than half the people in attendance had given birth in the last couple of years and I did very little to help any of them. They’ve all been taking care of me left and right and this morning through tears, that I’m sure have nothing to do with hormones whatsoever, I made a pact with myself to start helping people and being less selfish… and buy them cute onesies (for their babies to wear) and make them funny hats and stuff… maybe learn how to felt or quilt.

Anyway, Magoo sort of threw a fit when I picked him up from his play date which was not too distressing for me because it meant I could peg him as “tired” and give me him an afternoon nap. We laid down together on my bed and he asked me to rub his back. I had him roll over on his tummy and started to rub.

“Here,” he offered, “I’ll open it for you,” and he pulled up his shirt so I could rub his actual back. After a few minutes, he rolled over and pulled up the front of his shirt.

“Boys don’t have breasts,” he declared.


“But I just have these two breast buttons,” he said, pressing on them.

“Those are called nipples.”

“Nope. Mine are called breast buttons,” he said matter-of-factly. “You have some too.” He reached for the neckline of my shirt. I held it in place.

“I know where they are,” I told him, “They’re kind of private.”


We lay there for a few more minutes before he looked at my arms and observed, “Girls have girl hairs on their arms and boys have boy hairs on their arms.”

I looked down at his arms and he got a self-conscious look on his face.

“Well you can’t see mine right now because they’re too small and tiny.” Then his face got resolute. “But they’ll grow.”

So at 4 years of age, he’s already defending his manliness… to his mom. Raising a boy is gonna be pure awesomeness.

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