Blogs Are Stupid

Doesn't anyone believe in Dear Diary anymore? What happened to the joy of putting actual pen to paper? And why does every ordinary Jane and John think they can write well enough to burden the world with their scribblings? It’s a mystery that badly needs solving. My first entry contains my thoughts about blogging and will set your expectations. The rest will probably be stream of consciousness garbage, much like you’ll find on any other blog. Perhaps we will both come away enlightened.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Intercourse Discourse

We are heading home tomorrow, and I've been remiss in reposting some of my old pieces for you. Here's one I like, I hope it will hold you over until we are back home and my life returns to normal.

Intercourse Discourse

Despite being somewhat impoverished, my childhood was near idyllic in many ways. I grew up in that golden era when AIDS was yet unheard of, the only gangs to speak of had names like "The Rainbow Rollers", and Adam Walsh was just another anonymous American kid. We roamed free until dark, when we would straggle back home, dirty, exhausted and ravenous...but happy in that oblivious way that only kids can be. My parents were loving, vigilant, and wholly committed to giving us a good life and a stable home.

However...that carefree era was also the "we don't talk about that" era. As such, most of what I learned about sex came from my Dad's purloined Mickey Spillane novels and the schoolyard rumor mill. If I hadn't read Are you There God, It's Me Margaret I might have been convinced I was dying of some horrible, nameless "down there" disease when I began menstruating. But, thus informed, and armed with an "It's GREAT to be a Woman" starter kit that I got in the fifth grade, I ventured forth into womanhood with very little fanfare or acknowledgement other than the mysterious appearance of a box of Kotex in the bathroom cabinet.

When I began having sex at 17, I took myself down to Planned Parenthood and endured my first pelvic exam alone, scared to death my Mom would find out. Taboo subject that it was, I don't know how or why I had the presence of mind to procure some birth control, but I thank heaven that I did. I never told her, though part of me hoped desperately that she would somehow discover my secret, and we could talk about it at last. She never did.

When I had children of my own I vowed it would be different. I resolved to be open, honest and matter of fact with my kids about sex, and I resolved that they would always know they could talk to me about anything and everything.

That has proven to be easier said than done.

I tend to overthink things a bit, and the whole sex issue is no exception. From the time my oldest was an infant, I started planning what I would say and how. I ran through endless scenarios in my head. I practiced dialogue and feigning nonchalance. I was as prepared as I could be, and I was confident that when the time came, I would pull it off with aplomb. I would not choke. I would be as cool as a cucumber. I would.

Unfortunately, no amount of preparation can innoculate you against the shock of your piercingly innocent 7 year old child asking out of a clear blue sky..."So Mom...what IS sex anyway?" Everything I had rehearsed fled from my brain in a torrent of panic and denial, and I said something like...."Yurg."

Mercifully, I was able to gather my wits about me and make a pretty convincing show of being perfectly at ease while we discussed the basics of intercourse and insemination. Yurg indeed.

Fast forward a couple years, and I've got this down pat. I've covered just about everything there is to cover, except for nocturnal emissions, which I'm leaving to the parent who has actually experienced this phenomenon. I figure we've got a little time yet anyway, though I'm sure it will sneak up on us the way that first winsome inquiry did. I expect to be sniffing sheets before too long. So, thinking myself quite progressive and experienced, I relaxed a bit and did not worry quite so much about the inevitable moment when my younger child seeks enlightenment.

And still I was caught completely off gaurd.

In the van on the way home from a baseball game last evening, the talk was all about batting averages, RBIs and optically challenged umpires. Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, my sweet blue eyed diminutive one decided the time was right to start laying the groundwork for some intercourse discourse.

"Hey Mom, I heard some ladies get their stomach cut open to get the baby out."

"Ummmm...(don't say Yurg, don't say Yurg)...yes, that's true. It's called a C-section."

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes, I imagine it does."

"You don't know?"

"No, I didn't have a C-section, honey."

"Well then how did I get out?"


"You came out my vagina."

Stunned silence ensued. I bit my lips to keep from filling the chasm with gory details he might not yet want or need. Many moments passed. My husband and I looked at one other, blinking and bemused, while the pre-pubescent one snickered at the word "vagina". Finally he spoke.

"I sure wish I didn't ask that."

Me to buddy, me too. More silence, and then...

"I'm glad I'm not a girl."

Me too buddy. Meeeeeeeeeeee too.


  • At 12:07 AM, Blogger luckyzmom said…

    Thanx for the good read!

  • At 8:29 AM, Blogger OhTheJoys said…

    Miss you... COME HOME.

  • At 8:56 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    I had this same conversation with my girlfriend's daughters. I'm a nurse and gave them a very detailed description about the differences between vaginal births and c-sections. My girlfriend's husband was horrified, really, horrified that I would be honest with his kids. My girlfriend left her husband last year, he still can't figure out why. Yurg!

  • At 2:50 PM, Blogger Sandy. said…

    Fun stuff, isn't it?

    While waiting outside the men's restroom at WalMart (impatiently I might add, and quite nervously as my 6 year old was adamant he was too big to go into the women's restroom with me and demanded he be allowed to go in the men's restroom) . . . I heard my boy exclaim to the person next to him, "Wow, that's a hairy penis you've got there!" Ugh. As I shuffled outside the door pretending like I hadn't heard, he emerged right behind the "Hairy Penis Man" and in case anyone didn't hear it, my little one announced it again - LOUDLY and while pointing at him! Double Ugh.

    I recently found your blog and am having great fun reading. Thanks.


  • At 3:25 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Man. This is what I have to look forward to with Ollie, eh?

    Miss you. Thanks for re-posting least I have had a fix to tide me over.

  • At 11:23 PM, Blogger Amie Adams said…

    Yeah, Mr. 10 was 5 and 7 when his younger brothers arrived so we had the whole how's it getting out, how did get in there conversation.

    Since I have no privacy anywhere in my house they all seem to have the period thing wrapped up.

    I imagine the appreciation for not being a woman will cross their minds many a time over their lives.

    Won't they will never know though is what they'll miss by not being able to bring a baby into the world. Powerful stuff. Powerful stuff.

  • At 4:53 PM, Blogger Unknown said…

    I also grew up in the "don't talk about that" era-and still have the same relationship with my mom. So, even before my daughter was born 1 1/2 years ago, I have been scared of "the talk," mainly because I don't know what to say. I want to be direct and honest as well. It is a bit overwhelming, isn't it?

  • At 2:00 PM, Blogger Foofa said…

    That was a wonderful story! My parents got me a book when my mom was pregnant with my sister that had beautiful watercolor paintings of the whole chilbirth process. It isn't for everyone to explain when a kid is that young (I was 3) but the book was clear and artistic. I wish I remembered what it was called. Maybe "Where do Babies Come From" or something qually obvious. That being said, when i have kids i have no idea how I will tell them.

  • At 1:59 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    We JUST had this conversation last night. From out of nowhere comes...

    6 yr old son - so how do babies come out mom?

    me - Uh....well....from down here honey, I say pointing. (Geez is that the best I can do?)

    6 yr old - mean from where you poop?

    me - (I know I can do better, sheesh where did I point?) No sweety they come out a vagina.

    6 yr old - What the heck is that mom? Oh, never mind!


    Thanks for the laugh!


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