No! No, no, no, no!
Stop! No! Rewind!
Be 3 again.
I mean, I get it. I knew this moment would come. But I have dreaded it. More than trying to explain our electoral process (baffling). Or why I don't like my dishwater blonde hair (vanity). Or why I dance my way into "bike shorts" most mornings (three kids. hate working out. spanx.). And even more than the truth about Santa Claus (no haven't gone there yet).
I have dreaded going there.
The S question. The babies question. The big talk.
But thank you fourth grade, you ruined it all for me. All because we had to help Caleb with a project about where his name came from. How we chose it. Why.
Evidently where your name comes from, when you get down to it, somehow equals sex.
Yes, in doing so, we had to talk far too much about being pregnant. And ultimately had to tell two little boys where babies come from.
To back up, they asked, point blank. For the first time. They (and we, let's own this, after all) have danced around this in the past. But always lost interest. Them, that is.
Until last night. When like a shot. Or like the liquid one I needed after the question, it was there.
So how do you get pregnant, anyways?I promised we'd tell him after his homework and dinner were done. (And really, if that isn't an incentive to never, ever complete your homework and dinner, I don't know what is.)
We finished dinner and homework and, quite frankly, I thought Brian was going to duck it. The kids were going to bed. They forgot.
But I didn't want it ever to be said that I avoided it.
I, the fool I am, said, oh no, we made a commitment, we are doing this. We are talking, we are sharing, we are not turning back.
And then it happened. I opened my mouth. I was going to talk. Point A to Point B. Rational and pragmatic and hard truth.
And then?
I started giggling like a fourth grade girl.
Horrible, near hiccuping giggling.
I couldn't stop it.
So I turned off the lights.
Because, you know, who doesn't want to have "the talk" with your parents in the dark. Because your mom is like 12 and can't keep it together.
I tried to play it straight. I tried to just talk. And yet I couldn't stop giggling.
It. Was. Horrible.
Eventually, I was able to answer a few questions. But not really. And yes, in the dark. I may as well have done this with a bag on my head.
Brian would turn on the light. I would face the wall. Because I was laughing like a 12-year-old.
Horrible.
When it was all said and done, Brian and I headed downstairs. He rolled his eyes.
Pretty sure you earned an F on that one.And he is right. There are plenty of things I am good at.
Clearly, sex ed is not one.
I thought we were done. I had my composure back. Sort of.
And then Eli started yelling down the stairs:
Mom and Dad, I have a question! I ripped the monkey! I ripped the monkey! What do you do if you rip the monkey?
Innocence lost. It's over. I have no idea what this means, but it's over. It can't be good.
Turns out it really was a monkey.
However, Brian has informed me I still get an F.
