Oh! Oh! Oh My God!

This blog is for all those parents whose children are young, little kid young. You might be tired of diapers or potty training or structuring your day around naptime or the pre-dinner melt down hour. You might be sick of answering the question “why” with “because I said so.” You might be over singing lullabies or waking up to prepare yet another bottle. You’ve got your hands full, no doubt about it.

I can say that because I’ve been there, and I remember how it felt when a child who used the potty successfully for three years was so busy playing that she forgot she needed to take a shit until it happened in her jeans. I also remember the arguments over tasting the dreaded green bean or the tears when the door bell rings and it’s the babysitter. And I definitely remember the first time my daughters asked me where babies come from, and how the answer to that question changed as they aged and understood more.

Sometimes you feel trapped by your child’s developmental stage, and you wonder if it will get easier or better. You might have even asked friends with older children, and they probably told you it’s not better, just different. As my rabbi said to me today, bigger kids, bigger problems. He’s got a point. Shitting in one’s pants is nothing compared to a positive pregnancy test or an arrest for underage drinking. While picking out a good preschool seems like a big decision, you have to remember it is nothing compared to picking out a college.

This afternoon, I had a fun conversation with my twelve year old daughter E as we drove to her doctor’s appointment. She was getting the second in a series of vaccine shots to protect her from the HPV virus, you know, the one that causes genital warts and cervical cancer? She had mentioned to me last night that she wanted to ask me a question but she was too embarrassed to ask it. I suggested she write it down and I would answer her question on the note, and that way we wouldn’t have to actually talk. Of course, she forgot to do that while my words still hung fresh in the air, so I asked her if she wanted to talk in the car since we weren’t able to have eye contact.

E: This is kind of embarrassing.
Me: Just ask me. You know you can ask me anything.
E: I feel like I should know this, but what is an orgasm?

Oh my Jesus, my twelve year old daughter asked me what an orgasm is. I am convinced that conversations with teenagers in the car cause more accidents than driving while texting or under the influence, combined. I swerved to avoid a head-on collision.

Me: Where did you hear about orgasms and why do you think you should know what they are?
E: Some kids at school were talking about it. I was too embarrassed to say I didn’t know what it meant.

Thank you, Higher Power, for that sign, that my tween daughter doesn’t know about orgasms yet.

Me: In what context? Could you not figure out what they meant?
E: Look at you, Mom. You don’t want to answer me. I can tell.
Me: No, I was just curious how orgasms come up in conversation in the sixth grade. Never mind. You remember how I told you about the man having a pe…
E: Ew. Do you have to use medical words?
Me: Yes, yes I do. The man has a penis, right? And when he and a woman have sexual intercourse, you remember how he has sperm, and semen?

E learned all about semen in her science class. Plant semen. Not quite the same thing.

Me: Well, when a man and a woman have, hmm, er, sex can be for making babies, right?
E: Yuck.
Me: It can also be pleasurable.

If it’s done right. I didn’t tell her that part. I also didn't tell her that she didn't need a man to have one, or that making a baby was the last thing most people think about when they are going to have an orgasm. I didn't tell her about riding a bike or a horse  or her sonic toothbrush or the washing machine. I kept it as clinical as I could. Yay, me.

Me: So when the man and woman are having sex and maybe enjoying it, sometimes they have a rush of hormones and endorphins in a big physical response, and that is how the sperm is released, through the end of the penis, and that is called an orgasm. It’s how the sperm gets into the vagina.
E: Please stop.
Me: Women have orgasms too, but they don’t shoot sperm everywhere.
E: Gross.
Me: Instead, when a woman has an orgasm, the walls of her vagina will contract, because it’s just muscle, right? And the contractions help the sperm reach the cervix and the uterus where they will eventually encounter the egg. So when a man and a woman both have an orgasm, it makes it easier to make a baby.
E: Are you through?
Me: The actual moment when all that happens for either a man or a woman is what is known as an orgasm. And it’s supposed to feel really good. Have you ever heard anyone eat a piece of cake and say it’s orgasmic?
E: I’m not listening anymore.
Me: Well, that’s a joke, obviously. That the cake is so good, that when a person eats it, she will have an orgasm.
E: That’s just disgusting, Mom.
Me: Sometimes cake is really good. So now you know all about orgasms. I still want to know why they were talking about it at school.
E: I don’t know, Mom. The boys are just pigs. They talk about all kinds of gross stuff.
Me: Do you want to know anything else?
E: No, I wish I never asked. Why do kids my age want to talk about this stuff, let alone do it? Some kid in my class got in-school suspension for bringing a condom to school.
Me: Do you want me to tell you about condoms?
E: No! I already know about those.

I decided against telling her a cute story about when she was two or three and found one of Daddy’s condoms, still in its little foil pack, in his nightstand. She cried because I wouldn’t let her have any of Daddy’s special gum.

Me: Anything else you want to know?
E: No, I’m good. Or I was before this conversation.

So the next time your child throws herself on the floor at WalMart because you won’t get her pretzel Goldfish crackers that she doesn’t even like, cherish that moment. The same goes with a little Sharpie on the wall or wet sheets in the morning. I bet you my sister would rather wash sheets covered with her son’s urine than her son’s nocturnal emissions.

Not easier or better, just different.