We have begun the age of “the talks”. I’m not sure how this happened, and I’m quite certain I was not consulted ahead of time on this agenda. If I was consulted, I certainly would have balked at the timeline. I would have prepared more (or at least thought about it ahead of time). I would’ve read books and had funny anecdotes and possibly a diagram. No, scratch that, no diagram.
But, nope. No warning for me. Just had to wing it.
Last night, right before bedtime (because that’s when ALL IMPORTANT THINGS are remembered and mentioned – when I’m already clocked out for the day on onto my wine time), Peanut came to me and said, “Mom, at school, someone said something really inappropriate”. “Mmmmhmmmm” I respond, already assuming it was less-than-earth shattering and merely a way to push bedtime and keep me from my wine. “Do you want to know what it was?” she asks. At this point, knowing how past conversations at bedtime happen to lead to significantly later bedtimes, my response was “Nope.”
She didn’t quite know what to do with this.
“So, you don’t want to know?”
“Did a boy say it?” I respond.
“Then nope. I don’t want to know. Boys are gross.” Sorry if you have a boy, but that’s a standard answer over here. But really, they can be a little gross…..
“He was even suspended from school because of it!”
At this point I assume a swear word was uttered, but she won’t budge. She wants to tell me, so finally I just let her, again assuming it was just a bad word. (And she knows all of them. We had that talk last year, and Hubby just flat out told them all to her. At the table. Without warning me first. Nothing like an f-bomb to get the conversation rolling. The reasoning was if she knows them and hears them, the curiosity/secrecy factor goes away, which is a good plan. But again, a little warning would have been nice.)
“He said he stuck his ‘thingie’ in some girl’s butt.”
Back the truck up. Please stop the world. I’d like to get off now. This ride is no longer enjoyable.
Now, at this point, she’s watching me intently for some sort of reaction. I, being the mature adult that I am, withhold any such reaction. On the outside. But on the inside? Red lights, sirens, and mayday signals are blaring.
Some of you are very open and comfortable with talks of the body and such. I applaud you. I am not you. We used the term “bits” when my oldest was young to identify that area, as in “clean your bits and bottom”. My little one is going to be even more confused because she thinks anything below her belly button is her “booty”. So, in hindsight, learning the correct words and such isn’t a bad idea. (Take notes, new moms.) In fact, I had to use the term “vagina” with my oldest last week because she was dead set on hearing me say it. While I was able to keep from visibly squirming, it was hard. So very hard.
Apparently, I’m not all that mature.
So, back to last night. After a moment of panic, I did exactly what any parent would do…. I kind of nudged it off. But then she continued. “So-and-so said that’s how a girl gets pregnant. Is that true?”
Well, crap. No getting out of this one now. (Keep in mind, she is 8. I thought I’d have more time to prep for this.) Suck it up, buttercup, we’re too far in to stop now!
So, off I went on a PG-rated version of how babies are made. Believe it or not, I think it went relatively well. I clarified a few things (no, the butt is not involved), stayed fairly “technical” as to what happens for the whole baby-making thing (there are eggs and sperm/seed), and stuck more with what goes on inside as opposed to, well, the rest of it. Threw in the “it’s something special God made for two people who love each other very much” for good measure. Of course, now her wheels are turning, and she looks a bit mortified when she realizes that – wait – she was a baby once! “You mean, you and Daddy had to do THAT for me to end up in your tummy?!?”
Now’s where it got fun because, technically, um, no. I explained a doctor needed to do it for us to get her in my tummy. Then I realized how bad that sounded without further explanation (and her look of utter confusion confirmed it), so I elaborated a little on the whole IVF process. Which led to a few more questions, and that was that.
All in all, she went to bed seemingly satisfied with the answers, although still pretty disturbed. (Yes!) I think she was a little proud of knowing some of the details, because to her, that means I think she’s old enough to know. I figure this was a good stepping stone and lets her know she can come to me with any questions. Ultimately, that’s my goal. I want my girls to come to me no matter what.
So far, so good. I did forget one small detail – the fact that the act has a name. Oh well. We’ll save that tidbit for the next conversation. In five years.
Needless to say, I needed an extra glass of wine last night after she went to bed.