A few years back, I found myself in possession of an unusual item. It’s a toy for adults, if you catch my drift.
Let me take you back to a time before kids when my husband, Jake, and I, in our youthful recklessness, decided to throw a party. You know the kind—similar to those trendy gatherings for LuLaRoe or Mary Kay, but with a twist of the risqué: think plastic phalluses, bizarre-flavored gels, and edible underwear. (Honestly, have you ever looked closely at edible undies? They’re basically glorified fruit roll-ups, and who wants to munch on one that’s, well, less than appetizing? But I digress.)
Just my luck, I came down with a brutal stomach virus an hour before the party started—too late to cancel. So, I quarantined myself in our bedroom with a trash can at my side, while Jake took over hosting duties. To my surprise, he turned out to be quite the salesman for these items. Who would have thought? With his charm, everything sold like hotcakes, and as a thank-you, I got to choose something for free. Naturally, I picked a big, blue, sparkly, motorized, rotating phallic toy.
Fast forward a few years, when our eldest, Sam, was about five. After rearranging our bedroom closet, he stumbled upon some boxes of random stuff and suddenly, I was greeted by a frantic buzzing noise followed by a wide-eyed “Whoa!”
My heart stopped. I turned to find my son holding Big Blue, marveling at it in all its vibrating glory. “What’s this?” he asked, his eyes as big as saucers. Panic set in. I had to act nonchalant. If he thought it was forbidden, he’d only want it more. “It’s…an antique,” I stammered, trying to sound casual as I snatched it from his hands. “I’ll just put this away.” My face burned with the type of embarrassment only a parent can understand. I shoved the toy onto the highest shelf, buried it deep behind some clutter.
“What’s an antique?” Sam’s muffled voice came from outside the closet.
I honestly can’t recall what I said, as we tend to block out traumatic moments. But clearly, it made an impression. Recently, while visiting my mom, I jokingly teased her about a ceramic cat she bought back in the ’80s that she still displays. “If you keep that cat much longer, it’s going to be an antique,” I laughed.
To my surprise, Sam chimed in, “Hey, like your antique!”
I was taken aback. “What antique?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“You know,” he replied, sounding exasperated as if I should already know, “the big sparkly blue thing in your closet that buzzes and spins. Can we play with it?”
Oh. My. Goodness.
There he was, asking about my vibrator right in front of my mother! I was dying inside. “Oh, that?” I said, trying to play it cool. “I think I threw that away ages ago.” But truth be told, I hadn’t.
And now, I might just have to.
For more parenting stories and insights, check out our post on at-home insemination kits, which can be a helpful resource for those exploring family planning options. If you’re interested in learning more about pregnancy, the March of Dimes provides excellent resources.
Summary
This humorous reflection on motherhood dives into the unintentional discovery of an adult toy by a young child, leading to an awkward moment between the mother and son. It highlights the challenges of parenting while maintaining a sense of humor about life’s unexpected situations.