How I Royally F’d up The Birds and The Bee’s Talk With My Son.

13 Mar

My son is 8 and a half. He is chill, cerebral, goofy, sarcastic, kind and totally couldn’t care less about girls. One of his buddies has a major crush on the dark haired beauty in their class and wrote her a short letter to tell her so. He confided in my son about it and my son’s reaction was with one side of his lip curled, eyebrows narrowed while looking at his friend as though he just pooped a baby chick and said, “Dude. Why’d ya do that?”

His friend shrugged, recognizing immediately that my son was NOT going to be the one he goes to for his girl problems. My son has mentioned one girl, one. He said the other girls were too bossy, but this one “had a voice like a bird.” And then he ran away. I left it alone. Respecting his distance.

But it’s different for each kid. I had a friend in 4th grade that was ALL about the boys; I mean she would chase them, grab them and kiss them. I didn’t know what her deal was. But I knew enough at age 10 to nickname her “firecrotch”. I’m not really sure where I learned that from (I did have an older sister reading “Forever” by Judy Blume) and it wasn’t until college when the term really meant something (girl down the hall didn’t lock her door if you know what I’m sayin’.), but even in 4th grade, I knew she had more mojo than I did.

She was boy crazy. I just wanted to play kickball. And my son, he just wants to talk about Minecraft. SO, you can imagine my surprise and THRILL when from the backseat one random afternoon, I hear, “Hey mom. How are babies REAAALLLY made?”

“Yeah” my five-year-old little girl says from next to him.

I sighed. Shit. I look at him in the rearview mirror, gauging the determination of getting an answer or if I could change the subject as we drove past Game Stop. Perhaps today, he should have a new DS game, for just being quiet. But he made eye contact with me. Shit. Shit.

“Well. What do you know already?” I play it cool.

He looks right at my face, I stare at the road but I FEEL him.

“Well, I know that the story you’ve told us about a “special hug” is horse BEEP”

(Here is where you might judge me for the first time in this story… trust me, there will be a second time)

So you’ve probably guessed that I have a bit of a potty mouth. I try desperately to mask my love of the F-bomb and the “Sh” word in front of my kids and I do really well most of the time, but I’m human and I slip. But every time I slip, I turn to them immediately and say the following mantra “I’m sorry you heard those words, they’re not nice words and you’ll most definitely hear them from me again. You can say them when you’re 18. If I hear them out of YOUR mouth BEFORE you’re 18, we have problem. Understood?” and they nod. And I’ve excepted “beep” as an alternative.

Back to the story.

“Okay” I say. I wait a minute. “So, the pink and blue grocery aisle thing?



“Negative mom.”

BEEP! I’m only mildly prepared.

I’m extremely open with my kids, I honestly didn’t think I would have any problem with this conversation, but the thought of saying the words “penis goes into the vagina” makes me want to throw up. And also go into fits of giggles at the same time.  Being a comedian, I immediately go to the absurd and try not to take things like this too seriously, but dude. Really. There is no way around this. He wants to know. I have to tell him.

I visualize a close, matter of fact conversation happening on the couch as we play UNO and I’ve had a chance to give him some Benadryl (not really, don’t yell at me).



It’s happening. Here we go.

“Yeah Mom. We wanna know,” Says his 5-year-old sister as she pulls the head off her LaLa Loopsy and then licks the nub where it was. She’s so weird.

“Maaahhhm!” Jesus. All right kid.

And this is how it goes, and, this is the second time you will judge me in this story.

I begin…

“Ok! Remember last summer at Auntie Liz’s house when we were outside at the pool and the dogs were “wrestling”?”

“Yeah and Milly was killing Monte” my son remembers.

“Well, not killing. Mounting. Ok. SO, they weren’t actually wrestling. Like play wrestling. They were what we call what dogs do when they make puppies. They were “humping”.”


“Yeah. Cause remember when we went back at Thanksgiving and they had the puppies?”

“Yeahhhh…” He’s skeptical and senses my unchartered territory. He raises his eyebrow at me.

“So, Monte climbs onto Milly’s back and… puts his doggy business into Milly’s girly doggie business.”

“HER BUTT? Ewwwwww…” Screams and laughs his sister. My son looks sharply at her then back at me like, WTF?

“No, honey. Not her butt, her girly part. Monte does that and from his boy doggie part”

“Weiner” My sweet, precious little girl pipes in. I choke on my own spit.

“Sure. His doggy wiener and puts a seed into the doggy girl part, which goes into her belly and makes puppies”.

Okay, Yay! All done, I think.

Silence. My son looks out the window, his nose crinkled like he smells steamed broccoli. My daughter goes back to dismembering her doll. I bite my lip, grateful for the green lights I’m getting.

Then my son, … “But with humans… mom…”

“Hmm?” I look back at him. Crap. Really kid? We pull into our parking spot at home.

“Uh. Well.” I unbuckle my seatbelt. “With humans it’s pretty much the same. Everybody out!” And I exit the vehicle.

How’s that for screwing up your kid?

Eh, I’ll fix it later.

2 Responses to “How I Royally F’d up The Birds and The Bee’s Talk With My Son.”

  1. mistyrennquist March 13, 2013 at 9:37 pm #

    I think you were brilliant. I also love your swearing speech. I am a potty mouth as well and will have to incorporate that with my kids. I think I would accept beep as well.

  2. Rachelle @ Sweet Home Pasadena August 28, 2013 at 5:43 pm #

    Very awesome. I had “the talk” back in April. It went okay. I think. 😉

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