“Who taught you that??” I was mortified. My almost 7 year old stood in front of me with a big grin on his face, and my husband sat across the table, miserably failing to stifle his laughter. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the guilty party was, and that suspicion was confirmed by my ruined 6 year old pointing a finger directly at his father.
How could he? We’d discussed this! It wasn’t the right time; we’d both agreed! We were supposed to slowly reveal the truth over time, as Holden grew older and more mature and became READY to handle that kind of information. Not like this! NOT YET!
Sit there all judgy, head shaking, tsk tsking if you want- but we ALL as parents have to make the decision of when and how to tell your kids about how babies are made, and as Holden stood before me, grabbing his junk, giving it a couple of good shakes, and happily announcing “All MY babies are right here!”– I knew I had been absolutely right about him NOT being ready yet.
He’d known minor details prior to this jaw dropping moment. Women could get pregnant and not men, that one day he would have babies of his own, and then came the shake that will haunt me for the rest of my life!
I wasn’t ready; I’m NOT ready! Not for the questions, or for him to know that he was the product of (GAHHHHH) sex between his father and myself. I’m no prude (duh!) but the thought of having to explain it all to the kid terrifies me almost more than anything else in parenthood does. Maybe that’s why Thomas took the reigns, because he knew me having to be the bearer of embarrassing (yet natural) news, but that was a decision we should have made together, much like the decision to have the kid in the first place. I needed to be confident that Holden was ready, that he wouldn’t go running around his school yelling “PENISES AND VAGINAS MAKE BABIES TOGETHER!”- that he wouldn’t stand in front of me while I was eating breakfast and shake his testicles, oh, I’m sorry, baby carriers.
I guess if I’m sitting here, being honest with myself and all of you about my apprehension to discuss the birds and the bees with my kids, I must also be honest with myself and wonder if maybe HE is ready, but I am not. Am I a prude??? Have I just been kidding myself all this time? No. Definitely not. That is not what is going on here.
All the junk shaking, tampon questioning, vagina pointing, boob commenting, and awkward statement hearing has made me realize something. A BIG something! NO, DON’T EVEN THINK LIKE THAT! YEESH! A big NON wiener-y something. I’m going to share what I’ve realized, and I promise it won’t hurt even one little bit!
Parenthood is really less about our kids being ready, and more about us parents being ready to let them be, or accept that they already are. Watching our children grow up is a pretty fucking magical experience, but it’s also very sad, because every day that passes is a day you can’t get back.
Shit. I just went and brought down the mood of this post, didn’t I? I feel like I need to insert a penis joke here… oh wait! I think I just did!
Okay, I’m being serious now, I promise! Watching our kids grow up is hard. And awkward. And sad. And wonderful. And sad. It’s only natural to clutch onto something that you subconsciously think might keep them younger for just a little while longer. At least in your mind! For me- it just so happens to be wieners and vaginas. Figures.
Think about it- we all have something! What’s yours? Is it the baby tendrils at the end of the hair that you KNOW if you cut off won’t come back? A stuffed animal you refuse to let them give away because they’ve had it since birth and you’re more attached to it than they are? Or are you hanging on to doodles and tacos along with me?
my life. pic.twitter.com/qLhD6ISx7p
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