“Can you please give me some privacy?” is a rather new request of Sam’s. When he’s getting changed for school while watching morning cartoons (in our room!), he’d like me to busy myself elsewhere. When I’m washing my face or putting on make-up in the washroom, he dances in the hallway asking if he can interrupt me rather than using the facilities while I’m in there. Even the much-loved towel hug after baths has fallen out of favour in recent months. I have to knock before entering so he can cover up.
Normal, I suppose.
But I was stunned last week to hear Sam shut Carter out of his room near bedtime. Cousin sleepovers had long meant a joint tub, clothes strewn in all directions, followed by a naked scamper up the stairs for pj’s or fresh undies to sleep in. Or, as pictured here, a towel-wrapped game of hide and seek in the cubby. Well, maybe that was just the once….when they were 2.
Nevertheless, this was obviously something that had been discussed. Skipping the tub that night, the boys headed straight to the bedroom for pj’s. At the top of the stairs, Sam whirled around on Carter and said, “Remember? We’re doing privacy now. So you stay here while I get changed and then I’ll come out and wait for you to change.” Doing privacy? “Oh ya,” Carter replied, recalling some agreement I was not privy to. When he cracked the door open for a progress report a few minutes later, Sam called out frantically, “Don’t come in! I’m completely naked!”
Is that it then? No more completely naked? Because I don’t want the wild abandon of childhood to be over already. Running buck naked through the sprinkler, sharing a sloshy tub with Carter, changing for bed in fits of giggles. Not that Sam’s suddenly ashamed, but this different awareness of his nakedness seems too much like the fall from innocence. Like he’s edging away from the free and open expression of himself and towards a more adult consciousness that is, by comparison, inhibited and concealed. Private. It was hard to imagine back when we were bathing and swaddling him on the kitchen counter in the Lisgar apartment, but our boy is developing a private life.
And that newly closed door between us makes me a little sad.
Normal, I suppose.
But I was stunned last week to hear Sam shut Carter out of his room near bedtime. Cousin sleepovers had long meant a joint tub, clothes strewn in all directions, followed by a naked scamper up the stairs for pj’s or fresh undies to sleep in. Or, as pictured here, a towel-wrapped game of hide and seek in the cubby. Well, maybe that was just the once….when they were 2.
Nevertheless, this was obviously something that had been discussed. Skipping the tub that night, the boys headed straight to the bedroom for pj’s. At the top of the stairs, Sam whirled around on Carter and said, “Remember? We’re doing privacy now. So you stay here while I get changed and then I’ll come out and wait for you to change.” Doing privacy? “Oh ya,” Carter replied, recalling some agreement I was not privy to. When he cracked the door open for a progress report a few minutes later, Sam called out frantically, “Don’t come in! I’m completely naked!”
Is that it then? No more completely naked? Because I don’t want the wild abandon of childhood to be over already. Running buck naked through the sprinkler, sharing a sloshy tub with Carter, changing for bed in fits of giggles. Not that Sam’s suddenly ashamed, but this different awareness of his nakedness seems too much like the fall from innocence. Like he’s edging away from the free and open expression of himself and towards a more adult consciousness that is, by comparison, inhibited and concealed. Private. It was hard to imagine back when we were bathing and swaddling him on the kitchen counter in the Lisgar apartment, but our boy is developing a private life.
And that newly closed door between us makes me a little sad.
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