As a mom, more often then not, I’m taken off guard. Most of the time, I rise to the challenge and handle it. But every so often, I’m totally fucking stumped. My kids seem to know now when this happens and though resistant at first, they always end up helping me find the funny.
This is my most recent conversation with my six-year old daughter. Verbatim.
My daughter: “Mom, What are these?”
I look. She’s holding a box of tampons.
Me: “uhhhh. Vagina Candy.”
My daughter: “You feed your vagina candy? Will it get rotten?”
Me: “I hope not.”
My daughter: “I can’t wait to feed MY vagina candy.”
Me: “It’s not really candy baby.”
My daughter: “What is it then?”
Me: pause. Struggle. “A mouse.”
My daughter: “A mouse??”
Me: “No. it’s not a mouse.”
She knows for sure now that I’m messing with her..
My daughter: “MOOOOooommm. What are they??”
Me: “Look. Ok. I really don’t know how to tell you without freaking you out. You’re six. Conceptually?… It’s out of your league.”
My Daughter: “it’s not.”
Me: “It is.”
My daughter: “it’s not!”
Me: “It is.”
My daughter: “Mom. It’s not.”
Me: “Okay then. Let’s see. What if I say the word (and I say it like I’m speaking of a pretty pink cloud) ‘Blood’… what do you think?”
Look of horror, she asks slowly.
My daughter: “Blood from what?”
Me: “Your own body.”
Stunned, confused and still a little horrified.
Me: “BUT, it’s doesn’t hurt.” I say matter of factly.
My daughter: “I can take it. Tell me.”
I stifle a laugh. She is so friggin’ cute right now! All serious like – with her hand on her hip.
Me: “Okay. Well you bleed. From there.” She looks down… “For days.”
She looks back up, unsure if I’m still messing with her.
My daughter: “For days?” Like even she is like, wtf man.
Me: “But you don’t die.”
My daughter: “well that’s good news.”
I laugh a little, so does she, in relief and we look at each other, like ‘riggghhht?’…
Me: “Yes. It is.”
Silence. Then.
My daughter: “You’re joking.”
Me: “Yes” (ish I think)
My daughter: “It is candy. For your vagina.”
Me: “No. But when you’re like, God I hope at least 10, hopefully 13, we can discuss this again and perhaps, I dunno. Share a box.”
Horror is replaced with joy.
My daughter: “Can I say bad words then too?”
Me: “Nope. That’s eighteen.”
My daughter: “Man. All the good stuff happens later. Like vines.”
Me: “Vines?”
My daughter: “Yeah. Vines. That’s good stuff.” She says, convincingly.
Me: “ What are vines?”
My daughter: “What Gramma drinks.” Like, duh.
Me: “Oh! Wine! Wine.”
My daughter: “ Right. Wines.”
Me: “ Why do you think it’s such good stuff?”
My daughter: “”Cause that’s what gramma says after she takes a sip. “Oh. That’s good stuff”.”
End.
Mission: Averted.
3 Stages Of Girl 
Loved this – made me laugh!
Reminded me of when I took my daughter away for the weekend, to have ‘that chat’. She was about 10. A friend – who is a Children’s nurse – recommended a book to help out. I explained what I could, then I gave her the book to read; ‘let me know if you have any questions.’
She read for a few minutes, then asked, ‘Mum, what is an orgasm?’
It had been a while and my memory is not great so I said ‘look in the index, under ‘O”.
She looked. ‘No,’ she said. ‘O is for Oral Sex. What’s that, Mum?’
I had words with that Children’s nurse next time I saw her.