I should have known it was coming when Green brought home this book from the school library:
The boys have been tiptoe-ing around the question of babies. Recently, I overheard a conversation between them and a friend. It went something like this:
Blue: Jax, do you know how babies are born?
Jax: (slyly) I do.
Green: How?
Jax: The mommy squats down, and the baby squirts out her butt.
Together: Hee Hee Hee
Blue: I’m pretty sure that it squirts out her belly button. Remember, the baby is in the mommy’s stomach?
Jax: Yes, but a stomach is connected to the butt. That is how you poop.
Blue and Green: Ahhhhhh! Now we get it!
At that moment, I was a coward. I did not want to have that discussion, not then. I needed a cocktail first. I needed Michael to be home. I needed to hire a professional to take care of it. I cleared my throat and said, “Boys! Why don’t you all go outside and pretend to shoot things!”
“Yay!” they hooted and ran to the yard with their make-believe guns. I rested my head on the table, feeling like I had dodged a bullet.
A few days later, I was not as lucky. It was a sunny spring day, and we were all headed to the beach. In typical fashion, it was a heroic endeavor to get us all fed, dressed, and sunscreened. About 2/3 of the way through the process, I came into the living room to find the boys hunched over a large children’s encyclopedia.
I leaned over their shoulders and peered at the page. At the top, in neon letters, were the words “Human Reproduction.”
I almost dropped the large load I was carrying. The theme music to Friday the 13th filled my ears:
“Look!” Blue shrieked. “It’s a picture of a baby hatching!”
Hatching?!
I glanced up at Michael, who was half-way through smearing sunscreen on his own face. He raised his eyebrows at me, and I knew what he was saying: Now. We need to tell them now.
These days, the dominant philosophy about sex education is to demystify the topic early and often. The idea is that early parental intervention can protect against misinformation (see above) and crazy, inaccurate hypotheses (see above), and also open lines of communication. Of course, this kind of forward-thinking openness doesn't always produce the desired result. One afternoon, my friend, ECM, and her kindergartner were cooking together. She asked him, “Do you know how babies are made?” His head snapped back in surprise. ECM began to share the details. He suddenly put his hands over his ears and screamed, “I don’t wanna hear it! I don’t wanna hear it!”
I don’t blame him. Anyway, Michael and I decided that we would let our boys’ own curiosity guide the timing of the discussion, and here we were.
I cleared my throat. “Uh…boys? Babies don’t hatch from eggs.”
Green looked up suspiciously. He pointed to a picture of a fetus in the book. “Here’s a picture of a baby with a huge penis. It’s in an egg.”
I paused, then said, “That baby is in an amniotic sac. And that’s not a penis. That’s the cord that brings food to the baby while he’s in his mommy’s belly.”
Green said, “It sure looks like a penis. A giant monster penis!”
There were a couple of silent moments as we all reflected on the idea of a giant monster penis. Then Blue asked, “So how does the baby get in there?”
The Friday the 13th music played again:
Michael and I gazed at each other, waiting to see which one of us was going to take the bait. Usually, our problems fall into jurisdictions. If a birthday party is coming up, I’m the one who is responsible for the journey to Toys R Us. If there is a flying millipede with fangs whizzing through the living room, Michael has to deal with it. But this? This? We stared at each other for 10 seconds, then 20.
Blue repeated the question. “How do babies get in the mommy’s belly?”
Michael shifted, stammered, then dove in. “Well," he said, with a scientific tone. “See…there’s a sperm and an egg, and when they meet, a baby begins to grow.”
Blue was not satisfied. “Where does the sperm come from?” he asked.
Michael looked at me, eyes wide, pleading with me to take over. “From the daddy," I mumbled.
“What? I can’t hear you.” Green said.
“FROM THE DADDY. SPERM COMES FROM THE DADDY,” I wheezed.
“I don’t get it!” Green whined, growing exasperated.
Michael coughed. And coughed again. And then he clarified.
Green’s mouth hung open, his eyes like saucers. “You’re joking,” he challenged.
Michael shook his head and said, “I’m not joking.”
Then Green’s eyes got squinty. He said, “I don’t believe you.”
Blue jumped in. “ I know!” he exclaimed. “Green, you need to ask your teacher. She’ll know the truth.”
It just so happens that Green’s teacher is 7 months pregnant. I would not put it past my child to run into the classroom and say, “Mrs. Worksheet, my daddy says that he knows how that baby got in your belly!”
“ACK!” I shrieked. “No! No! Let’s keep this discussion in our family!” I paused, trying to compose myself. “Uh…do you have any questions?”
Blue said, “I do. I have a question.”
I braced myself. “What is it?”
“Can we go to the beach now?”
Blue: Jax, do you know how babies are born?
Jax: (slyly) I do.
Green: How?
Jax: The mommy squats down, and the baby squirts out her butt.
Together: Hee Hee Hee
Blue: I’m pretty sure that it squirts out her belly button. Remember, the baby is in the mommy’s stomach?
Jax: Yes, but a stomach is connected to the butt. That is how you poop.
Blue and Green: Ahhhhhh! Now we get it!
At that moment, I was a coward. I did not want to have that discussion, not then. I needed a cocktail first. I needed Michael to be home. I needed to hire a professional to take care of it. I cleared my throat and said, “Boys! Why don’t you all go outside and pretend to shoot things!”
“Yay!” they hooted and ran to the yard with their make-believe guns. I rested my head on the table, feeling like I had dodged a bullet.
A few days later, I was not as lucky. It was a sunny spring day, and we were all headed to the beach. In typical fashion, it was a heroic endeavor to get us all fed, dressed, and sunscreened. About 2/3 of the way through the process, I came into the living room to find the boys hunched over a large children’s encyclopedia.
I leaned over their shoulders and peered at the page. At the top, in neon letters, were the words “Human Reproduction.”
I almost dropped the large load I was carrying. The theme music to Friday the 13th filled my ears:
“Look!” Blue shrieked. “It’s a picture of a baby hatching!”
Hatching?!
I glanced up at Michael, who was half-way through smearing sunscreen on his own face. He raised his eyebrows at me, and I knew what he was saying: Now. We need to tell them now.
These days, the dominant philosophy about sex education is to demystify the topic early and often. The idea is that early parental intervention can protect against misinformation (see above) and crazy, inaccurate hypotheses (see above), and also open lines of communication. Of course, this kind of forward-thinking openness doesn't always produce the desired result. One afternoon, my friend, ECM, and her kindergartner were cooking together. She asked him, “Do you know how babies are made?” His head snapped back in surprise. ECM began to share the details. He suddenly put his hands over his ears and screamed, “I don’t wanna hear it! I don’t wanna hear it!”
I don’t blame him. Anyway, Michael and I decided that we would let our boys’ own curiosity guide the timing of the discussion, and here we were.
I cleared my throat. “Uh…boys? Babies don’t hatch from eggs.”
Green looked up suspiciously. He pointed to a picture of a fetus in the book. “Here’s a picture of a baby with a huge penis. It’s in an egg.”
I paused, then said, “That baby is in an amniotic sac. And that’s not a penis. That’s the cord that brings food to the baby while he’s in his mommy’s belly.”
Green said, “It sure looks like a penis. A giant monster penis!”
There were a couple of silent moments as we all reflected on the idea of a giant monster penis. Then Blue asked, “So how does the baby get in there?”
The Friday the 13th music played again:
Michael and I gazed at each other, waiting to see which one of us was going to take the bait. Usually, our problems fall into jurisdictions. If a birthday party is coming up, I’m the one who is responsible for the journey to Toys R Us. If there is a flying millipede with fangs whizzing through the living room, Michael has to deal with it. But this? This? We stared at each other for 10 seconds, then 20.
Blue repeated the question. “How do babies get in the mommy’s belly?”
Michael shifted, stammered, then dove in. “Well," he said, with a scientific tone. “See…there’s a sperm and an egg, and when they meet, a baby begins to grow.”
Blue was not satisfied. “Where does the sperm come from?” he asked.
Michael looked at me, eyes wide, pleading with me to take over. “From the daddy," I mumbled.
“What? I can’t hear you.” Green said.
“FROM THE DADDY. SPERM COMES FROM THE DADDY,” I wheezed.
“I don’t get it!” Green whined, growing exasperated.
Michael coughed. And coughed again. And then he clarified.
Green’s mouth hung open, his eyes like saucers. “You’re joking,” he challenged.
Michael shook his head and said, “I’m not joking.”
Then Green’s eyes got squinty. He said, “I don’t believe you.”
Blue jumped in. “ I know!” he exclaimed. “Green, you need to ask your teacher. She’ll know the truth.”
It just so happens that Green’s teacher is 7 months pregnant. I would not put it past my child to run into the classroom and say, “Mrs. Worksheet, my daddy says that he knows how that baby got in your belly!”
“ACK!” I shrieked. “No! No! Let’s keep this discussion in our family!” I paused, trying to compose myself. “Uh…do you have any questions?”
Blue said, “I do. I have a question.”
I braced myself. “What is it?”
“Can we go to the beach now?”
3 comments:
I still like the "hatching" theory. Not all misconceptions need to be corrected, right?
I think that music is background music for just about ANYTHING these days. "Hey, let's blow up the kitchen! Mom, where do we keep the dangerous chemicals?"
The kids almost got it right, though. The baby/butt thing may not be true, but it sure felt like a plausible theory while I was giving birth. Yeow!
Best use of "reflected." Ever.
Post a Comment