Here's something you don't want to hear come out of your son's mouth about your newborn baby girl:
Mommy, why is Harper's head squishy?
Just typing that sentence gives me the willies! I am not a fan of the soft spot. It terrifies me. The fact that on a portion of my daughter's head, the only thing between the world and her precious brain is a couple layers of skin is something I choose not to think about very often. I cannot touch that part of her head with my hands. When I bathe her, I wash it gently with a washcloth, putting just enough of a barrier between my skin and hers that allows me to pretend that the soft spot doesn't exist. When I catch myself thinking about her soft spot (which I have been doing since I sat down to write this—you should see me. I'm twitching like a monkey!), I have the most horrible visions. I can't write them down because that will make them all-too-real and will make me look like a certifiable nutcase but, suffice it to say, these visions consist of the worst-case-scenarios. I'd feel allot better if I kept a helmet on my daughter 24/7 but, alas, I do not want to stunt the growth of her head. I think I can survive the soft spot stage long enough to save her the humiliation of being known amongst the preschool set as, "That girl with the really small head."
So, I responded to my son the only way I could at the time:
Don't ever say that again.
He looked at me like I was crazy for a few seconds, shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I guess in the past few weeks of postpartum-Mommy, he's gotten used to crazy.