Don't look in my bottom

Shawn Joaquin has become, as we who hate to love Ron Burgundy like to say, locked in a glass case of emotion. He's like a really short, very drunk little man whose wife just left him. He vacillates between utter joy and destructive despondency, testing out his new freedom and then being utterly crushed to find it's not as great as he thought it would be.

"I WANNA WALK UP BY MYSELF! NO HELPING!
[pause]
"HELP ME NOW! HELP ME NOOOOOWWWWW!"

This morning I got into bed with him and as he told me about last night's Hole in the Wall dream, he suddenly stopped and demanded I rub his back. This is code for I WANT ALL OF YOUR ATTENTION AND DON'T EVEN LOOK UP AT THE MONKEY ON THE BOOKSHELF OR I WILL BITE YOU. I OWN YOUR ASS. I began to rub his back while he told me about how the cow talked just like Grandad. About the skunk that was hiding in the tree and I found him. How the childrens [sic] that were playing in the carts again. And suddenly, mid-story, my touch was no more wanted than a syphilitic hooker's touch is desired by a sober man.

"NOT THAT WAY! THAT'S NOT THE WAY TO TOUCH ME! DON'T LOOK IN MY BOTTOM!"

These are the moments you're sure that CPS will come crashing in through the window, dropped in on rope ladders by a hovering helicopter — the neighbors have alerted them to not only the screams but the very clear LANGUAGE CHOICES that show CLEAR ABUSE. It's all I can do not to clamp my hand over his mouth and duck behind the furniture. This "look in my bottom" thing first appeared in a very quiet waiting room, where a long forgotten rectal temperature check was suddenly construed and clearly, loudly proclaimed as "remember when you looked in my bottom and gave me an ouchie and stuck that thing in me? I didn't like that very much." Why can't I have one of those kids who just comment on other people's fat guts or moles or bad breath? You can just look chagrined and move on, knowing you'll never have to see them or their fat gut again. But NO, I am "outted" in a medical waiting room where IT'S THEIR JOB TO REPORT THESE THINGS.

Later he told the doctor that he didn't like it when SHE looked in his bottom (as she listened to his heart), and the fact that she laughed and said "I hear ya, kid" led me to believe that perhaps my child was not the first to say something like this, and CPS would not be heading over to meet us at the exit door. I relaxed and did my best to enjoy the next five minutes of yelling, "Don't touch that! THAT'S NOT WHAT YOU SHOULD DO!!!" since it was directed at someone other than me for once.

By the time we hit the elevator, I was so chillaxed I had forgotten about the whole incident. Until he asked to be picked up, grabbed my face, and said in a loud voice that carried the full three feet to the man standing next to us: "Mom, you're not supposed to touch my bottom. That's MY area."

Here we go again.