Carien’s pre-primary class is learning about cows, milk and the connection between the two. And strangely, my child who is fussy about everything else is quite fine with the idea of milk coming from the cow. Maybe because she used me as a cow until she was 3, almost 4? She still has a boob-fascination going. Being given a choice she would spend her whole day with a hand on my “soft bits” (mamma se sagte vleisies). As a poor substitute she spends a great deal of the evening on my lap in that position and an even greater part of the night in our bed, hand in position. I am trusting that she will attend her matric dance without a boob in hand. Hopefully.
Yesterday as I was getting dressed she gave me her “I am thinking” look – a sure indication that whatever is going to come out of her mouth next will be something that I don’t want to hear.
S: Ja my skat?
C: Daardie … ronde … vet … goed noem ons ‘n uuuuier. En daardie …. stingel … is waar die melk uitkom. **
Imagine my surprise. Not only I am I the proud owner of an udder, I have a “stem” too.
And then she mimicked a cow walking off with an udder ready to burst: wide legged, weaving from side to side. Now I know that my boobs aren’t quite what they were (or where they were) pre-children but really? I don’t think it looks that bad. I hope.
** C: Those round fat things we call an udder. And that stem is where the milk comes from.