December 10, 2010

Dad, Where Are Your Boobs?

From the minute my first daughter was born, I began preparing to answer the hard questions every parent is eventually forced to answer. You know, the questions that test your ability as a parent. And if you're like me and have a photographic memory for facts, you'll be able to quench your young one's thirst for knowledge with honest, dignified answers.

Dad, where do babies come from? They are dropped off at the hospital by storks flying through the sky—how else do you explain some of the goofy names some kids have? Storks have weird taste.

Dad, how does Santa get into a house if it doesn't have a chimney? That's easy, he uses a key that parents hide under the doormat to come through the front door. If the parents forget, he just picks the lock with Rudolph's antlers.

Dad, why do I pee sitting down but you pee standing up? It's because they don't make Dora potty seats in my size.

Dad, why do people like "The Mentalist"? No one knows.

And so on. It's a Dad's job to answer these questions earnestly, in a way your kids can understand and with an answer that will get you into the least amount of trouble when one day they figure out that you are lying. Of course, then you must eventually answer the question, "Why were you lying?"—to which the correct answer is, "You're grounded."

But no matter how hard you prepare for those curveballs, eventually you're sweet little angel will throw you a changeup. Allow me to demonstrate with an actual conversation that took place in my house last week between my eldest daughter Ella and me.

Ella: Dad, where are your boobs?

(Yes, she actually said it. And, like any intelligent, thoughtful Dad, I pretended not to hear it and quickly changed the subject.)

Me: So Ella, you're what, three now? I was thinking it's about time we got you a pony.

(I wear my panic well.)

Ella: Dad, I said where are your boobs?

In every Dad's moment of weakness, he does one of two things: 1) tells the truth or 2) fakes a heart attack. Unfortunately my daughter mistook my fake heart attack for a sneeze (my high school drama teacher would have been so disappointed in me.) So I sucked it up and went with the truth—which led to this, nearly verbatim, conversation:

Me: Well hun, I don't have boobs.
Ella: Why don't you have boobs?
Me: Because I'm a boy.
Ella: Boys don't have boobs?
Me: No, boys don't have boobs.
Ella: But mom has boobs.
Me: She's not a boy, she's a girl.
Ella: So only girls have boobs?
Me: Yes, only girls have boobs. Can you stop saying boobs?
Ella: I don't have boobs. Does that mean I'm a boy?
Me: No, you're a girl.
Ella: Then where are my boobs?
Me: You don't have them yet. One day when you get older you will get boobs.
Ella: When?
Me: When you're older. Much, much older.
Ella: How will I know when I'm getting boobs?
Me: When I start to carry a baseball bat around the house.
Ella: Does that mean that when you're older will you finally get boobs, too?
Me: I hope not.
Ella: Maybe you can ask Santa for some boobs?
Me: That's OK. I've already asked Santa for enough.
Ella: Well, I can ask him for you.
Me: You don't have to do that.
Ella: I don't mind. I have room now that I can cross pony off my list.

OK, so I'm not the best at answering the tough questions now, but as the years go on I know I'll get better. At first I wasn't the best at changing diapers either, but now my wife brags to others that I'm "not terrible" at it. Hopefully one day I can be "not terrible" at answering my daughter's tough questions, too. Or, at the very least, I should, in theory, be able to fake better heart attacks.

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Kara said...

"Ella: Does that mean that when you're older will you finally get boobs, too?

Me: I hope not."

I almost spit my coffee out. Too funny.

James (SeattleDad) said...

Great stuff man. I like the attempted diversion with the Pony. Sounds like with her, you will need to hone your skills.

Andy said...

I love it. Hilarious. I'd be tempted to point to my wife and say, 'Them's my boobs.' But that would probably just confuse the matter.

It's funny how some of these moments cause quick flash forwards to difficult stuff in the future (i.e. a daughter who might attract some loser dude that smells like cheetos).

Wise One said...


Robert Lee Brewer said...

Recently, I had to explain why Santa was driving in a Corvette from our Cub Scout pack meeting. Of course, it's because his reindeer need rest in December. This boobs question is a perfect example of why I'm glad I have boys.

MasonMetu - said...

So glad I found your blog - love your postings - the boob thing is hysterical - we've got two daughters and the questions they come up with - oh my. So nice to read a blog from a Dad's perspective too.

Riley said...

Came over here from Reddit, and have been slowly working my way through all your posts, laughing the whole way. We have our first baby (a boy) on the way right now (wife is at 36 weeks!), and I hope to have some great memories with him, just like I can tell you've had with your daughters.

Added you to my Google Reader, and hopefully I'll slowly make my way through the archives as well. Keep up the great writing!

Juliann Wetz said...

I just read this post and am still laughing at your horror. My horror?

When my daughter asked me: Mom, when am I going to get great big legs like yours?

God, I hope NEVER!!

Maria's Meandering Mind said...

Don't worry. My boys keep telling me they know where my penis is.

Shazia said...

Your daughter is one smart little angel! Loved the comedy...simply hilarious!! :D

Mart Ramirez said...

Omg this was hilarious! Thank you for making me laugh. I could see why it is one of your popular posts. You're quite the character lol and so is your daughter!

Mart Ramirez said...

Omg this was hilarious! Thank you for making me laugh. I could see why it is one of your popular posts. You're quite the character lol and so is your daughter!

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