Some things are just off limits

***Warning: this post contains references to TAMPONS***

Up until recently I've been able to keep my magical womanly time of the month relatively hidden from my unquenchably inquisitive little boy. Not because I'm embarrassed or ashamed of the gift that mother nature (Zane: or Jesus!) has given me, but because there's only so much that I'm willing to explain. I'm pretty frank with Zane when it comes to most things. I don't sugar coat too many answers and I have a really hard time lying to him even for a fun things like Santa Clause. He knows, for instance, that after a baby grows in a woman's tummy that she pushes it out of her vagina (ewwwww! was his response to this information). He hasn't asked how the baby gets into the tummy, thank god.

When it comes to tampons and what they're for and how they work? Not ready to open that can of worms. Just the thought of it makes me tired.

A few days ago, Zane and I were in a bathroom stall together (when, by the way, will I ever get to pee by myself again?). Zane peed first and as he was pulling up his pants and distracted by tiny little trash can in the stall I did my business (including tampon switch). I asked him to flush the toilet (which is his right and god help you if you forget that) and as he was reaching for the handle he glanced into the bowl to inspect things. He sees that which he did not deposit and the following conversation ensued...

Zane: Did you poop?

Me: Nope.

Zane: Did I poop?

Me: Nope.

Long pause. Wheels turning...

Zane: It looks like a sea monster.

Me: Huh. It sure does does. Let's go.

Whew.