Missing in action

     Tonight while C was taking a shower, I decided to try to expand on the things he does for himself while bathing. He’s pretty good at washing his belly, but that’s about it. I told him to wash his arms, legs and bottom crack. “What crack, Mommy? What are you talking about?” I reached behind him and touched the top of his derriere to see if he could feel what I was trying to explain. Silly me, have I not learned anything? This is a kid whose body awareness ranks right up there with, well, I have no idea, but suffice it to say HE has no idea. He still misses ankles and elbows most of the time I ask him to find them, and calves are baby cows, don’tcha know?

     So as I watched him trying to look at his bottom, eerily resembling a dog chasing its tail, I had to laugh. Round and round in circles he went in total confusion. “I don’t have a crack, Mommy! People like me don’t have them! Is it from a gun? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, MOMMY?!?!” Nothing I did could convince him. I showed him my own (yup, dropped trou right then and there – I have no modesty left since becoming a mother), and held him up to the mirror backwards to see if he could see it.

     Nope, no crack. Nuh-uh. No way, no how.