If you are the parent of a boy, you have no doubt noticed that they spend a good deal of time with their hands in their pants.
When I was pregnant with Sacha, at my 20-week sonogram, after the technician finished, the doctor came in to take a look at the contents of my belly. As he moved the paddle around, he said, "Now, I don't know if you want to know the sex of this child, and even if you did, I couldn't say for certain at this moment, but based on where the hands are, I'd say you are carrying a boy."
"Really? It starts this early?" David and I asked, incredulously.
"Yes," the doctor nodded, "It seems to be biologically determined; even in utero, boys love to play with themselves."
Second to exploring their own genitalia, my sons, as toddlers, seemed to try their darndest to explore mine. Their mission was two-fold. First there is the noble quest to re-enter the birth canal, head first. (An impossible mission, but these intrepid explorers are undeterred!) Then, there is the time spent batting their hands away from my vajango. This seems especially alluring in warm weather, when my wardrobe turns primarily to skirts and dresses. (Husbands, of young children, this is in part why your wives are sometimes not in the mood; while you are earning the bacon, we are subject to heavy petting.)
Gabriel thankfully, is well past this stage, but Sacha, at three, is in his prime. I think it has something to do with the nexus between height (right about the pubis), Y chromosome and utter lack of socialization.
One warm day recently, I was at Whole Foods with my kids. As we wandered through the cheeses Sacha alternated between reaching for my hand and up my skirt. At one point, he wandered slightly far afield of me. I heard a woman call out, "Ooh," and looked up to find another mother gently batting my son's hands away from her skirt.
"I'm so sorry!" I said, mortified by Sacha's transgression.
It was a good thing she had a sense of humor, and a child around the same age; she took it in stride, and we laughed: boys!
But now, I can't wait until Sacha starts dating, because I look forward to regaling his paramours with tales of his earliest sexual escapades. I will mortify him, and his dates, by telling the story of the time he tried to finger fuck someone else's mother in the supermarket.
That ought to keep them abstinent for a while.