Blog, did you finally get it? I started out with autism and a GIRL. So why is it that the A-bomb prefers to explode on twigs and berries? I dunno. Not having the twigs and berries myself, it's hard to ruminate. But here is how it goes in the Keane-Quirk house. Mama gets knocked up? Mama has a girl. Mama gets knocked up AGAIN? Mama has a girl. We are very comfortable with all the lady parts. I can hand you a user manual on lady parts or go straight up to the Power Point presentation. Imagine my surprise when Mama DIDN'T have a girl. I was like, hold up, there were male parts growing INSIDE OF ME???
I have to tell you. I spent a long time staring at it. This was going to be interesting. And still is. My poor son, who in all of his idiosyncratic, tactile "autismness" has always wanted to be fully clothed regardless of the situation. I mean, he is wearing an ascot and fedora when I wake him up in the morning. This kid likes to be COVERED. I strip him down for a swim lesson? Voila! He 360s into a pink tutu and Kevlar vest. I'm like, you got me, you got me.
And well, you know me. It's not that I don't WANT to wear pants, or be modest. But if I have to pluck a turkey, whilst checking math homework, after washing blankets, before a dance recital... sometimes, my pants, just don't make it on. Please, they're just pants. I am pretty sure we didn't have em for a billion years before we did. But my boy, bless his little heart, will consistently break down my bathroom door with his hands over his eyes, Marco Polo-ing it all the way to my person, to tell me ... mom? my-armpit-is-scratchy-and-helen-spit-on-me. For reals, T? I have to believe that you knew that could have waited for a second.
And I, of course, quietly tuck my superhero cape back in because we don't need it for tonight's coming of age.
Maybe tomorrow when Ted wants to know about SEX PARTS.
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