We were playing in the bath, Graham and I, when he very deliberately pointed at my breast.
Whassat?
I hesitated for only a second. That’s mommy’s nipple, I said. I pointed to his chest. And look, there’s Graham’s nipple.
He nodded, satisfied.
A few minutes later he lay on his stomach and pushed himself through the water towards me as is his habit when we bathe in our large, overfilled tub. His mouth was open.
He has a funny look on his face, I thought idly, just as he chomped firmly onto his intended target.
Oh dear God.
No Graham. I gently pushed him away. You drank milk from mommy when you were a baby. You’re a big boy now. You drink your milk from a cup.
I have not nursed Graham since he was seven months old: apparently he has a hell of a memory.
He glided up to me again, mouth agape.
I gently redirected.
Baby milk mama, he implored.
No sweetie. You drink big boy milk now. From a cup.
He sighed. Okay Mama.
I had no idea it would start this early. And by it, I mean my own questions about how and when to start establishing limits and boundaries when it comes to nakedness and privacy between Graham and me.
He’s twenty-seven-months-old. My gut feeling is that we North Americans worry entirely too much about this type of thing, that we project our own fears and insecurities about sexuality and the human body onto our children at far too young an age.
I have a baby book at home which recommends that parents curb nakedness around their children by the age of three at the oldest. The reason? Because some experts now believe that children may unconsciously become sexually aroused by their parents’ nakedness and as a result suffer confusion and embarrassment over those feelings.
I not only disagree with that assessment, I find it infuriating and sad. I find it sad, because it seems to me a theory that is so obviously a reaction to the times we live in and our own worst fears as opposed to our children’s best interests.
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