I thought I’d have at least another 10 years, or so, to get ready for ‘The Talk’; however, recently The Boy has been asking questions about how he got into my belly. The first time he asked, I was completely caught off guard, and told him it was magic. Then I proceeded to yell “Abracadabra” and tap his tummy with the pen I was holding. Then thought about it for a minute and was like, oh shit, that’s not right, now he thinks he can carry babies in his belly. Son of Bitch, what did I just do? Commence damage control.
The next day, The Husband and I sat him down and told him that when a Mommy and Daddy love each other, and are married, that God gives them a baby. Then we waited and stared at him, kind of like the way you stare at a dog humping another dog. You don’t want to stare too long, because it’s awkward, but you can’t look away. So, there we were, creepily staring at our five year old, waiting for the barrage of questions to flow from his tiny, chapped lips. Then, he uttered them, the two syllables that I was not expecting. He said, “O.K.”, and walked away.
What? Ok? What the fuck was that? I just spent the last 24 hours preparing for the incessant questions and the lies I would spew from my mouth. Like, “yup, it’s magic; and yup, you have to be married, and yup, it’s not icky at all, and yup, the doctor pulls the baby out of the belly button.” I had flashcards and a PowerPoint presentation prepared, and this little shit says ‘o.k.’ and walks away!? Awww, hell no….but, that was the end of it. Or so I thought.
Weeks later, while we’re driving to the store, here’s what went down:
The Boy: Mom, does God give you babies?
The Mom: Yes, son.
The Boy: Does he throw them down the chimney like Santa does with our gifts?
The Mom: Something like that. The baby definitely comes out a narrow shoot. (I manage to say while trying to contain my laughter and the pee in my bladder)
The Boy: Well, how does it get in there?
The Mom: Magic
The Boy: OK
There it was again, OK. Why is he so agreeable? This may not be a great character trait. ‘Hey, you wanna try some pot? OK! Hey, you wanna drink and drive for us? OK! Hey, wanna take your Mom’s car out for a spin when you’re 12 years old? OK!’ Damn it, he’s going to be just like me! But again, that was the end of it. Or, so I thought.
After our shopping, The Boy was admiring the absurd amount of coloring books he acquired and deciding which to color first. I stupidly suggested that he give one to his sister when he gets home and he replies, “No way, I need all these! When God puts my baby in [The Neighbor Girl’s] belly, that kid is going to need lots of books to read!” I was not able to contain my pee, and immediately called my BFF to tell her what my son was planning for her daughter.
As time goes on, I’m sure my misinformation, is going to confuse the shit out him. God is going to arrive in December with his Christmas gifts and then perform a Vegas inspired magic show. And, when he’s older, Santa is in some odd way going to get his juices flowing. I should probably think twice before protecting my children’s innocence with little white lies. I guess I’ll start telling The Girl that the weird guy at the mall, giving her candy, is her Uncle.
