“Why are all my teachers girls?”
“What’s infinity minus one?”
“Do mice have vaginas?”
There are the kinds of pressing questions my son has been asking me lately. They always make laugh—and think about things I haven’t wondered about in a long time (though I don’t think I ever wondered about mice genitalia). His curiosity is one of things I love about him being 4.
The problem is, more often than not, he asks me these questions when I can’t answer him. Like when I’m trying to get him dressed so we’re not late for school. Or in the car when I’m navigating a traffic jam. Or when his sister is screaming in her crib and I’m stress eating cookies in the kitchen. Not that I would necessarily know the answers anyway…but I like to think I could come up with something (or at least Google it).
“I don’t know, that’s a good question, let me think about it,” I’ll say, brushing him off. Or, “Hmm, that’s something Daddy would know, let’s ask him when he gets home.” (Which his true, his dad knows way more than me.) Sometimes, I bumble through a response that doesn’t even make sense to me just so he will feel like I’ve answered him.
It’s not how I thought I’d be as a parent. I thought I would take every sweet, surprising inquiry my kids came to me with as an opportunity to teach and connect. “Let’s think about that,” I envisioned myself saying, as if I had all the time in the world (this was before I had kids, back when I daydreamed about how amazing parenthood would be). Now, I see that just getting through the basic tasks of each day—putting a meal on the table, negotiating fights over toys, making sure the laundry is done—can be a struggle. Figuring out what infinity minus one is? I don’t have time for that.
Still, it’s supposed to be the best part of parenting. And it’s what I like most—helping my kids make sense of the world around them. So it makes me sad I can’t appreciate these special moments because I’m too focused on getting something done. Who cares if we’re five minutes late to preschool? Shouldn’t I be able to kneel down on the ground, look my son in the eyes, and say: “Yes, mice do have vaginas”?
The good news is I’m trying to be more present as a parent. When my son asks me stuff, I’m trying to be better about really listening. And if I can’t answer him in the moment, I try to remember his question, or write it down, so we can talk about it later.
“Remember when you asked me why we have toes?” I asked my son the other day. We ended up sitting on the couch and having a very interesting conversation. Did you know toes help us balance, and that if we lose a big toe, we could require months of physical therapy to walk again? My son seemed satisfied with the answer, and I was happy to connect with him on such an important subject.
I think my method is a good one. My new to-go response for my son’s ill-timed inquiries? “Let me get back to you on that.” I think it’s working—for both of us.
Leah Black is the former executive editor of New York Family. She and her husband are the proud parents of Avi and Lily.
