rabad – “mamma, when i grow up, i’ll have a pee-pee like abu, right?” (i think i sensed hopefulness in her tone)

me – “no baby, we were made girls and girls pee-pees are different from boys”

rabad – “but, why?”

me – “uh…..that’s how it is…”

rabad – “why did you make me girl, i wanted to be a boy”

me – “oh…uh…if you were a boy, you wouldn’t get to wear pretty skirts and frocks, clips and hairbands, bindis and bangles…”

i’m thinking really quick while i’m talking…this is not the right answer, what makes me like being a woman…being treated like a woman, that i think rabad is already making full use of (read foot note)…what else, what else…getting away from the traffic cop…no, bad idea…absolutely wrong time to tell her the things i hate about being a woman…

“how will you have a baby? only girls can have babies” BINGO! (she loves the idea of having a baby of her own)

rabad – “abu will not have a baby?”

me – “no”

end of conversation….matter disbursed for the time being…

after listening to the conversation between hubby dear and rabad, i get this feeling that rabad was double-checking and was clarifying her follow-up queries.

maybe we are goofing up. but how do you tell?
—

this happened last year, rabad was 3. we had been to a restaurant with a few friends recently. abu and rabad usually take off their shoes so that they can sit cross-legged.

at the end of the meal…

rabad – “you put on the shoes for me, pappa”

hubby dear – “no, on your own”

rabad, turning over to her friend ag, who is was 5 year old little boy – “please put shoes on for me”

ag dutifully bent over and put her shoes on for her…

This is a common refrain with her.

“Why?”

“Because I want a pee-pee like boys.”

Mamma and I have had this conversation with her before, so I knew what to say.

“But then you would not be able to have a baby in your stomach, right? Boys can’t have babies in their stomach.”

I think the sentence was a little too long for her, and she got confused.

“But Abu came out of mamma’s stomach, na?” she protested.

“Yes, but Abu will never be able to have babies in his own stomach,” I corrected her.

That seemed to satisfy her. She stopped complaining.

But then there was a new problem.

“Who will be the father of my babies?”

Uh-oh!

I was thinking of a good answer, when she continued.

“I want Abu to be the father.”

“Abu can’t be the father of your babies.”

This is also area that we have been over before. In fact, I have pointed out to them (Abu and Rabad) that if brother and sister have babies, there is a possibility that babies might be born deformed. I’m sure she remembered that, but was just trying her luck, because she did not press this point further. But…

“But then who will be the father of my babies?” she said plaintively.

“It can be anybody,” I said, trying not to tell her more than she wants to know.

“I’ll never find a father for my babies,” she said in a sad sort of a voice.

“You’ll find one when you are older. See, right now you are in school. After you grow up, you will get out of school,” I started.

“Yes, and I will be a teacher,” she said brightly.

“Correct. And, when you are a grown-up teacher, you will have a lot of friends. You can choose one of them to be the father of your babies.”

She chewed on this new information for a moment.

“Can I just go to one of my friends and ask, ‘Will you be the father of my babies?’” she asked. She had this air of “this is too easy to be true” about her.

“Exactly!” I said triumphantly, glad that we had all the logistics worked out.

She’s just 4, and we’ve already had 50% of the birds-and-bees conversation. In another 4 years, I am expecting to have the full 100% of the conversation with Abu.

Parenthood. It comes at you a little faster than you anticipated.