My son just announced, "I'm going to do something funny."
Then he scooped up all his plastic Easter eggs and shoved them under his legs.
"I'm going to hatch you, babies!" he said, and hunched over like a mother hen and made a goofy face. Okay, the face was alarmingly like my own goofy, intentionally dorky face. You know the face, when you force out your bottom lip and jaw in an exaggerated underbite and smile with narrowed eyes.
What have I created?
Yesterday I tried to teach him about his balls. Or "huevos" as they call them in Spanish. My boyfriend grew up in Fresno, California. He tells me it's the armpit of California and he has regaled me with a number of tales of the Mexican gangsters who used to threaten him on his way to and from school. One of the many cultural lessons he learned from them was how to say filthy disgusting things in Spanish. Calling the balls, "eggs" is actually more accurate, I think. They are more egg-shaped than ball or nut-shaped.
They are also delicate.
Anyway, I tried to teach my son Cracky about his huevos yesterday because I've been concerned about his total indifference towards his own ballsack. He doesn't even fumble around with his penis either. I guess he's just not in the "genital" stage yet. Although he knows his penis is called his penis, he's never asked me what the heck that ballsack is hanging beneath it.
So yesterday Cracky was digging away at his groinal area and I asked him, "Is something bothering you?"
"Yes, it itches!"
"Do you want me to take a look?"
"Yes, please!" So he came over and pulled his shorts over to the side and showed me the little crevice next to his ballsack, sort of in the crease of his leg, and it was red and dry. I had a little bit of eczema or dermatitis or some such thing when I was a kid, so I went upstairs to get some hydrocortisone.
"This will make it stop itching," I told him and squeezed out some of the ointment.
"Can you warm it up first?" he asked.
"Do you know what this is called?" I asked, pointing at his testicular-region.
"Well you know what your penis is called, right?"
"Yes," he giggled.
"Well, these are your testicles."
"You have like, uh, balls inside that sack. Those testicles make babies," I said, trying to make it scientific.
"I have balls that make babies?" he looked at me as though I'd lost my mind.
"Well, yes. It takes a man and a woman to make babies. They each contribute half of the genetic material to make a baby. Men have testicles that make sperm, and women have ovaries that make eggs. When you mix the sperm with the egg, you make a baby."
"Sperm?" Again he made a scrunched up face, and looked like he was about to laugh.
"Yes, to make babies."
"Boys make babies? I thought girls made babies?"
"The girls need boys to make the babies. Like I said, a boy contributes the sperm, and the girl contributes the eggs, and together they make the baby."
"I have a baby inside my testicles?" He bent over and peered at his sack.
"No. When you are grown up, and you get married, you'll be able to make babies if you want to. With your wife." I figured I'd better add a dash of morality to this play.
"But I already have a wife."
"Well, that's just your pretend wife. You're not making babies until you're an adult."
"We pretend to make babies at school."
"Kayla pretends to be our baby," he explained.
"Okay, that's fine. Pretending is fine."
"How does the boy give the girl the sperm?" He made a handing-over gesture with pinched fingers, as though handing me some jelly beans.
"He just gives it to her. Um, er, when you love someone, you get to share your sperm." Christ almighty, this wasn't going how I intended at all. "Well, if you want to make a baby with your wife, you and your wife can decided to share your eggs and sperm and make a baby..." I was flailing.
"You mean to make a family?"
"Yes," I sighed. "To make a family."
Thank you Cracky. Thank you for saving me. You're one good egg.