Where did I come from, Mummy?
This conversation had been threatening to ambush me for weeks. I could feel it. This was my moment and I had only one chance not to stuff it up. I remembered the advice I’d been given by a much wiser mum-friend to give just enough enformation, but not too much. Age appropriate, Michelle, age appropriate. I sat him down with me, put my arm around his shoulders and began to explain how Mummy and Daddy had decided that after we got married, were decided that even though we were so happy (carefree, spontaneous, able to sleep-in and did I mention spontaneous?) we really wanted a family. I went on to explain that, if two people reeeeallly
love each other, they can use that love to make a baby. I (confidently, forthrightly and not-at-all-struggling-for-words like a bumbling idiot, not at all…) described how Daddy has special teeny tiny seeds called Sperm
and Mummy has an Egg
and that when we cuddled really tight, with love in our hearts, he gave me some seeds to join with my egg, and that would grow into a baby.
Where does Daddy keep his seeds?
(Dear Lord, what is this obsession with details?) Oh, um…well, you know that sac you both have under your penises? That’s where the seeds are kept.
Solemn nod. huge eyes.
But why doesn’t he have a picture of us kids on that sac?
(My turn to look bewildered.)
I mean, when you buy seeds at the shops, the pack has a picture of what you’re gonna grow. Why doesn’t Dad have a picture of us kids on his seed sac?”
Oh man. I don’t know how I maintained my poker face, but I deserve an award. This kid is so cute.
I explained that babies are amazing surprises and we only get to see what we get when they are born, kinda like a lucky dip. He was unimpressed.
But how did he get the seeds out of his sac and into your tummy?
(Really? You couldn’t settle for the Cuddle story?)
Deep breath. Don’t hyperventilate, Michelle. Time to put on your big girl panties.
I said something about how Daddies are really clever because they can shoot their seeds out of their penises (hey, I know my audience, give me that at least) into Mummies’ tummies. (The actual wording is a blur. I might have blacked out. Forgive me.)
Little Man stared at me. Huge eyes. “O” shaped mouth. Slow blinking. Long pause.
Whoa! That’s SO COOL!
The rest was pretty smooth sailing. No more questions to freak mummy out. He seemed happy, and strangely unaware of the giant puddle of sweat surrounding me. I gave myself a metaphorical pat on the back for openly discussing this topic and not running away screaming (tempting) or deflecting to Dad (oh, so tempting). I sat in my sweat puddle, looking at my little boy, basking in the after-glow of my excellent parenting.
Not so fast.
Mum, thanks for explaining that to me. But would you mind answering my question?
(Baffled) What question?
Where did I come from?
(Wondering whether I need to have this child assessed by a professional, because WAS HE EVEN LISTENING?
) Um, what do you mean?
And here’s the corker…
I mean, you came to Australia from South Africa. Where did I come from?
Should have deflected to Dad.
Okay, spill. Have you had THE TALK with your kids? Tell us how it went for you. Unless you were perfect and GwynethPaltrow-like, in which case, go away. Sharing is caring!
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