The Talk
We had “the talk” a few days ago. You know the one I wrote about a few blogs back? Yes, that “talk”. S-E-X. Emmett had been showing increasing signs of curiosity, so waiting any longer would have been reckless on our parts. He was in the habit of using “69” in a majority of his sentences and then falling into a fit of giggles, so the time had definitely arrived. Fifth grade humor (eye roll)…
I was armed and ready for this momentous event, having purchased two books to aid in our discussion. We decided to use one book so as to not overwhelm him. Plus, it was set up in a question and answer format, so our job was basically done for us. The night arrived, and I have to admit, I was almost giddy. This was going to be amazing! We sat him down, explained what we’d be discussing and I pulled out the book. He took one look at it, turned the color of a tomato and hid behind a pillow. I forged ahead, not letting his embarrassment interfere with this important topic. We had decided to focus on a boys’ changing body - a “dip your toe in” kind of topic. It quickly went awry when we progressed from hair growth and voice changes to changes in the nether regions. I glanced over at Emmett, who had begun the discussion sitting upright on the couch, and who was now crouched down on the couch, peering over the armrest, hands clasped to his ears, singing “la-la-la-la-la.” We decided it was a good time to end the conversation, to which Emmett responded with “Thank God!” and stormed out of the room. Obviously, night one had gone tremendously well.
Night two was quick and easy. We sat him down again, and like an animal in the wild, he immediately sensed danger. I pulled out the book, he yanked it from my hands, ran to the garage and threw it in the dumpster. He stood triumphantly in the middle of the room and exclaimed “I’m never talking about this again!” and stormed off. We made the decision to end the discussion we never started. Don’t worry, I saved the book from the landfill.
On to night three. My kid was going to learn about the birds and the bees if it killed us all. I sensed the book was at fault (obviously), so instead of me reading it to him in my professional reading voice, he decided he wanted to read it on his own in his room. This was definitely progress. After some time had passed, I went to his room to see if he had any questions. He confidently told me that he was never going to be in a relationship, let alone get married, so none of this information applied to him. I responded “Well, everyone’s body changes, including yours,” to which he quickly replied “I already know everything about that” (err…Ok.). He did, however, have one question. Needless to say, I was thrilled! Finally, “the talk” was working. He cleared his throat and asked “Why do we have genders? Why can’t we just all have sperm and eggs and create our own children?” I picked up my handy-dandy book and flipped through the pages, confident the answer was buried in there somewhere. Flipping, flipping, flipping…and, nothing. I responded the best way I knew how: “Well…because!” And that, my friends, marked the conclusion of night three.
I wish I could say there was a fourth night, but I’m not afraid to admit defeat. Burn-me-to-the-ground, kick me while I’m down, roll me off the cliff, defeat. But I did learn one thing: DO NOT HAVE A PLAN. This goes against every cell in my body. How can you not have a plan? Just thinking about it makes me break into a cold sweat. But, it’s true. Had I thrown my plan in the garbage after night one and allowed Emmett to lead, we might have made more progress. Maybe. Bottom line: do NOT, under any circumstances, follow my lead. Instead, let your child lead. Think of it as riding as a passenger in a car they are driving. They’re going to run stop signs, hit speed bumps and slam on the brakes. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. But, you’ll eventually make it to your destination, unscathed (sort of) and glad you rode along.
In the meantime, I’ll be researching how to become one gender and encouraging Emmett to refrain from referencing “69” in every sentence. I’ve got my work cut out for me.
