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Before kids, I had a tiny mole on my neck. But then, at some point late in my first pregnancy with Levi, I began to notice the mole get considerably bigger, but it still wasn't a big deal. My doc had told me that pregnancy hormones do that and not to worry. It stayed that way until my second pregnancy with Adelaide, into which it grew again and became quite formidable, for a mole. There are certain things that just don't bother me: scars, moles, freckles, slight blemishes of that sort. So this one didn't really bother me either, though it had sort of developed its own personality. See for yourself:
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| (And I purposely chose a picture/angle that's not too imposing.) |
We all know that with kids, no subject is off-limits. They have questions about life, and one of the unexpected pleasures (most of the time) of parenting is all the very straightforward explanations we get to dig up about poop, death, body parts, good-and-evil, you name it.
Levi was three when Adelaide was born, and he had lots of questions about nursing. I happily answered them in that delicate, tight-rope routine we all do to give understanding and also be age-appropriate, perhaps even inserting important teachings about privacy and such. I think it's right here that I can pinpoint the moment that I began to have feelings about my growing mole. It was during one such conversation when Levi pointed to it and asked, "How come you never feed Adelaide on that nipple?"
<Imagine tires screeching to a halt> Hold on, what???! I looked at him and blinked, then laughed really hard, then explained to him that it was just. a. mole. Not. a. nipple. This was a good time to fine-tune my nipple explanation from earlier. I proceeded to show him other much-more-normal-and-size-appropriate moles I had, which, looking back, must've been more confusing since none of them really looked like the weird neck-mole. But it seemed to work out.
"Oh," he said. No big deal. Nipple, mole, mole, nipple. Who cares?
No one cares. I didn't care. I, the confident-in-her-own-skin woman who doesn't lose sleep over wrinkles, weird feet, her crooked thumb, cellulite, and plenty of scars, thought it was just a hilarious story. I relayed the story to Jed and my sisters and girlfriends. But I have to admit, over time, it started to nag at me a little. I thought, "If Levi got so confused by it, who else might be distracted by it?" I worked with a sweet girl years ago who had a wart on her tongue (yep, a wart, on her tongue), and I refused to let it distract me, so much so that my attempts at not being distracted sometimes backfired and made me that much more distracted! I didn't want to subject everyone I knew to that same fate with my weird mole. But I'd forget about it for awhile, then think about it again, then whatever.
Then infants and small toddlers became obsessed with it. When I would pick them up, Adelaide and all her posse would pretty much ignore me and go looking for my mole to push like a button or try to yank out of its socket. Nice. And not altogether comfortable. I began to realize that, while I'd never had any "work done," I was ready to look into having this sucker removed.
The clencher came one happy afternoon that we had friends over and a couple of stray kittens wandered into our yard. They were tiny, obviously newly weaned, and starving. Someone had dumped them. I immediately scooped one up, and in nanoseconds, I kid you not, that kitten was trying to nurse on my mole!!
My first thought: "For the love of God! IT'S NOT A NIPPLE!!" Even God's innocent creation was mistaking it as such.
My second: "OK, I get it!!" I went swiftly to my neighbors' house and asked to borrow some cat food to get these kittens nourishment and keep my own dignity intact. I officially determined then that I'd have it removed. That was a year ago, but I am happy to say, for my own sanity and for the edification of those who must look at me from time to time, that last week, the mole went bye-bye. And for those of you who see me often, yes, it's for you that I've waited to share these stories till after it's gone so as not to make the distraction that much worse!
The day of the removal, the dermatologist gave me a funny alternative: "When this comes off, you'll probably have some minor scarring, just a little pucker like a tiny belly button." Not joking! The persistence of that spot to harbor some unusual body part was astonishing to me. And I love that Yahweh has a sense of humor!
Truthfully, though, if I must exchange one odd body part to camp on my neck for another, I'll happily trade a nipple for a tiny belly button. Remember? I don't mind scars. And at least it's not an arm or a foot. (It can always be worse.)
Right now, it's still healing and actually looks quite like I imagine a bullet wound might look. I have yet to see the full "belly button" effect, but I very much look forward to it.
But the very best part was Levi's reaction to its removal. After years of non-issue with that topic and what I'd thought was an understanding we'd reached, I came home from the doctor, and Levi said, "Hey Mom!! Did the doctor take that nipple off your neck?"
.................<Sigh>
I dropped my things on the counter, grabbed an apple, and finagled my big-bellied self into a chair. I smiled at Levi, thrilled to give what I hoped would be my last such attempt at clarifying. In T minus two weeks or so, we can trade these talks for ones about that crazy belly button that appeared where the nipple was.
I have nothing to say except I laughed like a fool all the way through this.
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