You know the one I’m referring to, right?
Of course, I’m talking about The Sex Talk. I should clarify and say that I didn’t intend to have the sex talk yet, but when you’re looking for shortcuts in dealing with major transitional issues in your child’s life, well, shit happens.
My daughter is eleven years old now, and in middle school. I remember middle school well. It’s an excruciating time period rife with insecurity, bad skin, growth spurts, and hormonal rebellion. And with the hormones come the puberty, and with the puberty comes the realization that boys aren’t gross (all the time). Sometimes, they’re cute. And funny. And did I mention cute?
Bryn started coming home from school with stories about eighth graders holding hands or kissing in the hallways. She says it’s gross, but I can tell she has that beginning fascination with watching it unfold, and trying to figure out how a seemingly normal girl/classmate would want to kiss a boy in the hallway at school. She wants to understand it. And I want her to understand it. As much as I hate it, I don’t want her to be ignorant about what’s happening around her. In a world where kids are growing up too fast and have too much access to adult content, I don’t want her to be uninformed about her body or how it’s changing. I want her to understand why eighth graders believe they’re mature enough to be “in love,” and why they think it’s a grand idea to shove their tongues down each other’s throats in the middle of a junior high hallway with an audience. I want her to be as informed as possible so that as she gets older she can make informed decisions for herself without relying on misguided and/or incorrect information from her friends. Plus, if she’s ignorant about things she’s more apt to succumb to peer pressure, and we all know peer pressure is an asshole!
I just wasn’t ready to approach all of that at once. I thought I would spread it out a little.
To help guide me in this new world of raising a pre-teenage girl, I did the only thing that made sense. I bought a book. Books are awesome. I was at a book party with several moms from my neighborhood and the book I purchased came highly recommended by the woman selling the books. I also noticed several other moms purchasing the book so I snatched up my copy, flipped through it and decided the content was appropriate for Bryn’s age and developmental level. Puberty, periods, and pimples. Perfect.
My original intention was to sit down with Bryn and for us to read the book together. But after three weeks of the book lying on my dresser untouched because I didn’t make the time to read it with her, I just gave it to her and said, “Here, read this and let me know if you have any questions.”
Famous last words.
She did read it, and holy hell did she have questions! I should have read the book first. Then I could have tagged the pages I wanted her to read and saved the rest for later. But I didn’t do that. And I paid the price.
Bryn came downstairs after about an hour of reading and said, “Mom, what does this mean when they say a slippery fluid comes out of the woman’s vagina when she’s going to have sex? And I’m unclear about this whole erection thing.”
I grabbed the book and read the page she was referring to. It was a very detailed explanation of the mechanics of sex. It was worded appropriately considering the book is an educational tool, however, it was more detail than I had planned to share at this point, and clearly further explanation on my part was necessary. I had no choice. Pandora’s Box had been opened and it was all my fault. I couldn’t ask her to un-read what she had read. The knowledge was there and now needed my parental clarification.
I grabbed a glass (read bottle) of wine to fortify myself and we went upstairs to her room to continue the conversation I had never intended to start. The book covered everything from sex, puberty, periods, hygiene, acne, male genitalia, masturbation, wet dreams for males, attraction to both the opposite sex and same sex genders, as well as nutrition, exercise, and the dangers of drugs and alcohol. Holy sweet Jesus!
Two hours later she looked at me and said, “And you do this? You do the sex with daddy?”
To hesitate is to show fear. I couldn’t hesitate. I looked her in the eyes, fought to keep a straight face and said, “Yes, I do.” She looked back at me for a long moment, and then she calmly said, “That’s just gross.”
She then went on to explain that I didn’t need to worry about her having sex because she was not interested in doing that, ever. I asked if she’d be willing to sign a contract in blood every year until she graduated from high school. She was confused by my request, so I let that one drop.
At the end of the day I was glad we talked about it. But her new found knowledge has opened up new and not always welcome conversations. The other night we were watching TV and there was a commercial on for erectile dysfunction medication. Now that she knows the vocabulary, I can’t take anything for granted. She said, “What did the commercial mean when they said ‘Be sure your heart is healthy enough for sex.'” So I told her, “You know how exercise increases your heart rate? Well, sex is like exercise, and the old guys can’t always handle it if they have a bad heart.” 😉
PS–I’ll leave you with my favorite passage from her book. This was a girl’s book, by the way, so I’m not entirely sure why this information was necessary considering they have a separate book available for boys. I did find it rather hilarious though.
“Boys often have erections at inconvenient moments and it can be especially awkward if the erection won’t go down. While a boy is asleep, he may have what’s called a wet dream–an erection and then an orgasm….This is only his body getting used to its new way of working, but it can be embarrassing to stain the sheets.” —What’s Happening to Me?