I knew this moment would arrive. My instincts had been alert for weeks, bracing for the inevitable conversation about body changes. The dreaded Body Changes letter. Cue dramatic music!
Recalling my own childhood, I remember sitting uncomfortably among my classmates, desperately trying to appear nonchalant while mentally plotting an escape route. Just saying the word “PENIS” would send half the room into stunned silence while the other half erupted in awkward fidgeting and nervous giggles. Add a DIAGRAM to the mix, and the world seemed to freeze. Time stood still. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. There it was, glaring at us, with its little eye and its partner, the scrotum, both boldly displayed on the chalkboard as if we were expected to take notes.
What even is the word scrotum? It sounds unpleasant, no matter how you slice it. Thankfully, I’m an adult now and can dodge those potentially embarrassing lessons. My kids, however, are not so fortunate. It’s an uncomfortable yet necessary rite of passage, and as a mother, I aim to make this educational journey as smooth as possible. I have no qualms discussing these topics with them. While we don’t discuss human anatomy over dinner, I answer their questions in a straightforward and age-appropriate manner. I refer to the penis just as I would any other body part, maintaining eye contact and minimizing awkwardness.
Most importantly, I want to foster open communication. I prefer to guide their understanding rather than leave them to stumble upon it online or hear it from some know-it-all kid at school. So, in anticipation of this moment, I bought my child “the book” a few weeks ago, encouraging her to skim through it at her own pace. I promised to read it with her and discuss it in detail whenever she felt ready.
An hour later, she tossed the book onto my lap. “Done, Mom.”
I braced myself for questions, but none of them were what I expected.
-
“So, about those pictures showing how breasts grow? What stage are you at, Mom?”
“The last stage.”
“Um, yours don’t look like that.”
What I wished I could say: “You’re remarkably observant, dear. Years of life and three kids have taken their toll. Sadly, I know they look like they belong in a different category entirely. Thanks for pointing it out, and now I have one more reason to avoid being naked at home.”
What I actually said: “This is just a cartoon illustration. Cartoons aren’t real. Everyone looks different.” -
“Do you even need to wear a bra?”
What I wanted to say: “Seriously?”
What I actually said: “Not really, but it’s socially acceptable and it makes me feel better.” -
“What’s that stuff that sometimes shows up in your underwear?”
What I wanted to say: “Vaginal discharge.”
What I actually said: “Uh, vagina juice.” I froze. -
“What’s vagina juice, Mom?”
What I wanted to say: “It’s pronounced Vagina, sweetie.”
What I actually said: “It’s pronounced Vagina, honey.” -
My middle child chimes in from the other room: “Do I have a Virginia, Mommy?”
What I wanted to say: “It’s pronounced Vagina! And yes, all girls have one.”
What I actually said: “Go play.” -
The middle child, who never listens: “What’s a Virginia, Mommy?”
What I wanted to say: “Stop saying Virginia! It’s VAGINA!”
What I actually said: “It’s a state, honey.” -
“Why do they call it the ‘Public Area,’ Mommy? Because (nervous pointing and disgusted eye roll) it really shouldn’t be public at all!”
What I wanted to say: “It’s called the ‘Pubic Area,’ named after the bone in that region.”
What I actually said: “Exactly!” -
“What does menstruate mean?”
What I wanted to say: “It means that once a month, a swarm of ninjas will awaken in your stomach with a vengeance, making you feel like you want to punch everyone, and you’ll have to wear a diaper.”
What I actually said: “Every woman goes through it. It’s a gift that allows us to bear children.” -
“Does Daddy do it?”
What I wanted to say: “Nope, he’s one lucky guy!”
What I actually said: “Nope, that’s just for girls. We’re special like that.” -
“What does Daddy get to do?”
What I wanted to say: “Smile and have a penis.”
What I actually said: “He takes out the garbage.”
I was ready to talk about where babies come from, demonstrate how to use sanitary products, and discuss societal beauty trends. Yet here I am, grappling with why I wear a bra and explaining the laws of gravity, all while dealing with my own body’s quirks. Not to mention the peculiarities of trying to convince my daughters that this whole experience is something to look forward to—like a party with unicorns and rainbows.
I think I’m ready for a new topic. And maybe a little cosmetic help. Not necessarily in that order.
For more insights related to this topic, check out this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination. If you’re interested in home insemination options, consider visiting this link for a great product. Also, if you’re curious about gender selection, learn more from this authority on the subject.
Summary:
Navigating conversations about body changes with children can be challenging. From awkward questions about breasts to misunderstandings about anatomy, parents strive to maintain open communication while addressing their kids’ curiosities in a thoughtful and age-appropriate way. By fostering a comfortable dialogue, parents can help their children learn about their bodies without the embarrassment that often accompanies these discussions.