One of our friends is pregnant.
And my children have many, many questions.
They see this friend of ours at least once a week. They love her like a second mum. She wipes their bums (the mark of a true Family Friend), breaks up their fights and knows the politics of sippy-cup colour.
So, they feel very comfortable asking her questions like “How Did That Baby Get In There?” and “How Is It Going To Get Out?”
Questions that she, as a Family Friend who has no desire to be cast out of that position, deflects to me.
I am a cool mum. One who calls a vagina a vagina. But I am not prepared to answer these questions. It freaks me out and I have no idea why.
This is how the most recent exchange went:
“Mum, how did the baby get into Auntie Eve’s tummy?”
“Well, Uncle Adam put a seed in Auntie Eve’s tummy. WHO WANTS CHOCOLATE?”
“But how did he put the seed in there?”
“Well.” Um. “You know how boys have penises and girls have vaginas?”
“YES. OF COURSE I DO.”
“Well, um. They… WHO WANTS ICE CREAM?”
What’s wrong with me? I am a frank person, I can write about sex and talk about sex with anyone who wants to go there, but I am finding this conversation with my daughter absolutely excrutiating.
Yes, she’s only 5. But she’s asking. And it’s my job to tell her. And I don’t want it to be weird. But it is.