Let Me Tell You 'Bout The Birds And The Bees

Last summer was probably the first time Mr. C and I had a truly in-depth discussion about sex.

“How do babies get inside their mommy’s belly?” Mr. C asked one day as I was making cookies.


Bee and I are usually pretty matter-of-fact in our explanations of things, feeling that being straight-forward about some topics early-on will make them less-interesting/shocking as the child ages.  Still, I wasn’t certain how much I truly wanted to divulge to my then-four-year-old.

“The daddy helps put the baby in there,” I replied in a very casual voice, hoping to sound so blasé as to make Mr. C lose interest in the topic.

Of course it didn’t work.  “How does he put it there?” Mr. C immediately countered.

I steeled myself: “He has special seeds in his pee-pee.”  (Having read too many romance novels with odd names for sexual organs, I generally prefer to just use “pee-pee” and “vagina” for Mr. C’s education.  I haven’t gotten into “uterus”, “ejaculate”, etc, though, so don’t start writing me angry letters yet.)

Mr. C thought about that for a minute.  “But how do they get in the belly?”

I kept stirring my cookie dough, not making eye-contact, trying to act as if this was an everyday conversation on an everyday topic, and therefore something he was supposed to assimilate quickly as no big deal and move on.  “The daddy puts his pee-pee in the mommy’s vagina, and the seeds come out.  So then the mommy’s belly becomes like the garden, and the daddy’s pee-pee gives her the seed.”

Bee had arrived in the kitchen by now.  He jumped in with admirable calmness, “So the seed grows in the garden, and it makes a baby.  And the baby is part of the daddy and part of the mommy.”

Mr. C was taking all this in while he meandered around the kitchen.  “And then the baby grows and grows inside the belly, and, when it’s ready to come out,” he squealed in excitement, “they cut open the mommy’s belly!”

“Umm, not always,” I said.  “It’s better if the baby can come out the vagina.”

Mr. C continued listlessly pattering around the kitchen.  “So,” he summed up, “the daddy gives the mommy the seed, and it grows in her belly like a garden, and – after it’s done growing, it comes out of the mommy’s bagina.”

“VA-gina,” I corrected.

“BA-gina,” he amended.

And I left it at that.  Because the truth is that, while I don’t mind at all that he knows how sex works, I am a little worried about him being that child in Kindergarten who informs all the other little kids that the daddy puts his pee-pee inside the mommy and soon babies come out of their mommy’s bagina  And the other parents might maybe could probably would shun me.

Our only saving grace is that perhaps the other parents wouldn’t be able to figure out what a “bagina” is.

Still, I suppose we’re getting off easy on the anatomy talk.  Bee told me about when S.B. was young and had his very first woody.  “Dad!  Look at this!” the youngun’ had screamed from the bathroom.

Bee came in and studied the object of interest.  “Yeah,” he said, calmly, “boys get those sometimes.”

“But why?” asked young S.B.

“Umm,” Bee hedged, “it’s just something that happens.”

S.B. was absolutely fascinated by this new turn of events.  “You mean I’ll get more of them?” he asked excitedly.

“Sure!” said Bee, leaving the bathroom.  “And – when you get older – you’ll even be able to make it do that just by thinking about it!”

“Older?” questioned S.B.  “You mean, YOU can do it?”

“Uh-huh,” said Bee from his room.

There was silence for a moment in the bathroom.  Then a disembodied little voice screeched:

“SHOW ME!”

Ahh, Fickle Pickle: why is it you can put things into words so much better than can I?