Birds n Bees

My son was a happy, healthy, miss-informed first grader.  His immediate circle of

friends all had older siblings, and the trickle down effect of information relating to all matters of procreation  was like a skewed version of “telephone.”  I spoke with his pediatrician, and questioned her, as to what he needed to know, and how much depth should my explanations contain. I was remembering my own intro to the birds ‘n the bees talk. It started and ended with “never sit on a boy’s lap.” This was at age 16.

She advised me to get an age appropriate book, and read it with him.  I found a delightful

little paperback, with anatomically correct cartoon characters, and all the pertinent info.   I mean ALL, the info!  I don’t think I knew that much at 16. In fact I learned a thing or two, myself.

That evening, after dinner, my husband decided he would be the one to tackle the “TALK”.  He got comfy on the couch, and began to read to my bright eyed boy. I

was hovering in the next room, straining to hear everything.  I listened as my husband

choked over a number of the passages.  They likened the culmination of things to

The relief one gets after a big sneeze! (Please….if that were the case we’d all be snorting pepper!)  Mercifully I heard the words “The End.”  However this was quickly followed

by “now, its’ time to go to bed, see you tomorrow buddy.”  My boy shot up the stairs to

his room, like a rocket.  “I believe you skipped the question and answer segment of the talk” I said to my husband.  “I just couldn’t say another word, without breaking into fits

of laughter,” he said. (eyeing the pepper mill)

I let my boy stew over things for about 20 minutes, before joining him.  “Well, that

was quite the book, Daddy just read you.”  “Uh-huh”, he replied, looking like a deer in

the headlights.  “Do you have any questions?” I asked.  “Just a couple,” he replied.

“Like,….did you and Daddy do that to get me?” “Yes, we did” I replied.  A shudder of

the likes I have never witnessed, coursed through his body.  “You don’t still do that, do you?” he asked in a wavering squeak.  “Very rarely”. I replied.  Not the answer he, or for that matter my husband, wanted to hear.  “You have to be married to do that, Right?” He beseeched.  “Well you should be.” I replied.  A relieved sigh escaped from his lips, “and you don’t HAVE to ever get married, right?” “No, you don’t have to get married,” I answered. “Good!” An escape clause.

I then told him, that this talk was not for general discussion with friends or classmates.  “Don’t worry  Mom, I would never ever repeat this stuff to anyone!”  “Its’ too gross.”  Lets’ see how he feels in ten years!