For a girl that graduated with a degree in English, it has been a decidedly long time since I have put pen to paper (or more modernly, keyboard to screen). For anyone in the universe that is reading this later, I give my humble apologies.
My current goals for this blog are to exorcise some inner demons, give semi-useful information, and perhaps, most laudably (or not) entertain someone in the process. With that in mind, here goes.
Last night my daughter, Julie (age 7), listened intently to my conversation with my son, Caedmon (age 3), about when he was in Mommy's tummy. After listening to this for a few minutes, Julie candidly asked how Daddy put the baby into Mommy's tummy. Gulp! How am I going to answer this question (especially with my mother-in-law sitting in the next room, listening to every word)?
Answer made simple: AVOID!!!! Sure I could have launched into a full scale discussion of the mechanics of everything (after all I have taught ninth-grade health class), but all things considered I decided the best course of action was inaction. After nimbly side-stepping the question (brownies out of the oven do wonders at distraction), I was left with my musings. Just what do I find so intimidating about explaining the wonder of life to my daughter? Am I simply avoiding the embarrassment of admitting to her the intimacy that created her? Am I trying to delay the shock of learning just what the "wee-wee" is intended for? Will she be so intrigued by sex that she'll be drawn to experiment as a teenager? (Hopefully NOT!!!!)
No, ultimately I am trying to preserve the last few vestiges of her innocence. In a world plagued by Hannah Montana and Brittany Spears, I want my little girl to be just that. A little girl. Time marches on, and inevitably I will have to face the day when I have that talk with Julie...but not until at least next week.
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