Jewels box shopping is no business for mums
I NEVER thought I would say this, but I don’t want to go shopping.
Pacific Fair may well be my spiritual home, but the item on my list is so far outside my comfort zone it’s almost sacrilegious.
Forget big box stores, today I’m shopping for a big box … well, a box anyway.
My son makes his cricket debut this weekend, and as such I must ensure his family jewels are protected.
It’s totes awkward.
I’ve just searched for the item online (giving Google a whole new meaning) and it’s obvious that even sporting stores find the safety product a bit unsavoury. Instead of a ball protector (defining both the assailant and victim), it’s branded an “abdominal guard”.
FYI, when I do crunches, that is not the part of the abdomen I am aiming to tighten. Perhaps I’m the odd one out?
So anyway, at least now I know what to ask for. But are there … sizes?
Do I build up my son’s self image and ask for a men’s extra large? Or do I ask for the junior? (If they’re called peewee I may well pee-wee myself laughing.)
And how do we know if it fits? Am I meant to go in there and check the cupping?
This is virgin territory for me.
I’m a woman who grew up with a brother a dozen years older than me; he’s more like an uncle than a sibling. Not to mention we grew up in America, where cricket is just the insect that comes in summer plagues.
My husband, on the other hand, is not only a man but one who grew up playing cricket. However he’s conveniently left it to the last minute to buy our son’s gear … so this shopping expedition falls to me.
But that’s OK. I can do it. I just hope my darling realises that when our daughter needs her own protective apparatus, he will be the one attending the chemist.
To be honest, this isn’t the first time I’ve found myself dropping the ball when it comes to my son and his “abdomen”.
Rewind 11 years ago when he was just a few days old and we were due to head to the clinic in Southport for his circumcision.
Maybe it was post-birth hormones, maybe it was the previous night of zero sleep, maybe it was because we lived in Kingscliff at the time, but I found myself refusing to attend.
Actually, maybe it was the fact that I had never held anything so precious and perfect as my baby boy and I could not stand the thought of any hurt being done to him.
That’s not to say I think circumcision is an evil procedure that should be banned, as is being debated in numerous European countries.
In fact, cosmetic circumcision is already banned at Australian public hospitals, although the surgery can be carried out privately.
While there are debatable benefits of circumcision – which may be outweighed by the detrimental effects of pain and surgery – the primary reason, other than religious, that this procedure continues in Australia (although at a reduced rate) is so the boy will resemble his father. Really?
Are we skipping some major part of father-son bonding in our home?
I cannot think of any time that we’ve sat around as a family group comparing any parts of the body – private or public.
If my son would like to remedy my decision at a later date, he’s welcome to do so.
His body is his, as my daughter’s is hers and mine is mine. Our body, our voice, our choice.
Which makes me think about that blasted box again. Maybe it’s time he shopped for it himself. it is his gear at stake, in more ways than one.
Surely having your mother be your, well, private shopper is just … nuts.
Read Ann Wason Moore every Tuesday and Saturday in the