Think back to your childhood or teenage years. Think back to that time when your parent or parents got super awkward and weird and made you feel all awkward and weird and made you sit on the couch to talk about…sex.
Yeah, I got a dose of that this weekend. But from the other point of view. See, I wasn’t planning on having this conversation for like 13-15 more years, but now that I’m a step-mom and have a 13- and 11-year-old in the house, I get to speed up my timeline. Yay.
Why does something that can be so great and fun turn into a whole big production of awkward? I just want to know.
Anyways, Jade (the younger one) had been asking me questions all afternoon. “Would you love me if I was stupid? Would you love me if I was dog poop on your shoe? Would you love me if I was in a wheelchair?”
I was starting dinner, Mae was Facebooking (what else?), and Jade sat on the kitchen counter, nibbling on blueberries. And bless her wandering mind, those silly questions turned into, “When are you and Dad going to have a baby? Where is it going to sleep? I think it would be awfully hard to sleep with a baby and Mae and Burnsie (the cat) in one room. It would just be too noisy. Does it hurt when babies come out?”
Cue The Talk. Only, since I’m the step-mom nurse, I took it a different direction.
“Hop down for a minute. I want to show you something.”
“Awwww man!” She moaned.
I pulled out my good ol’ general medical-surgical textbooks, conveniently located on the bookshelf. We sat on the couch and talked about girl parts, complete with illustrations. We talked vaginas and boobs and ovaries and uteri and I showed her why having a baby hurts (just the head bit, never mind the contractions). And then I talked about sex, protected sex, and why waiting was a good thing. Both of them heard (I could tell from the “ewww” and “gaarrrossss!” comments from Mae).
They each swore they were not interested at all in sex. And music to my ears was Jade saying, “I don’t want to have sex until I’m like 30! I have too much to do before then: graduate high school, get my degree, start my own business…”
Now I know these feelings will change. And I’m well-aware that I’ll get to have this fun little convo again. But I made it through this one, thirteen years premature.