“Mommy, what is sex?” my son, Oliver, inquired, fiddling with the tag on his superhero pajamas.
“Uh, well, it’s a bit complicated. But we really need to get going to school. You get to finish your Leprechaun traps today!” Thank goodness we were running late—again.
I had anticipated this moment, yet I never imagined it would collide with the daily routine of fairy visits, sewing capes, and reading The Cat in the Hat for what felt like the thousandth time.
A quick search online with the phrase “sex talk with a 5-year-old” suggested I needed to respond immediately to foster trust and promote a healthy understanding of sexuality. Apparently, his curiosity was completely natural, but my plan to delay the conversation until he was 37 was a poor choice.
I scoured the internet, feeling the weight of being the “perfect mom” I envisioned. You know the type—the ones whose cabinets don’t explode with Tupperware when opened, the ones who clean up ketchup bottles like it’s second nature, and the ones who garden in pearls and perfectly polished nails. Above all, the perfect mom is always prepared for ‘The Talk.’
When Oliver returned from school, I prepared a snack of celery and peanut butter, garnished with raisins, arranged to resemble the “ants on a log” I had seen on Pinterest.
We settled at the kitchen table. I inhaled deeply, arranging my face to reflect calmness, and began, “Sweetheart, I wanted to revisit your question from this morning.”
*Crunch*
“What question? And what’s up with your face?” he asked.
“About… the thing you asked me earlier,” I replied, silently hoping he wouldn’t remember.
*Crunch*
“Oh yeah, the sex. My friend Mia said her mommy and daddy did the sex, and now she has a baby in her tummy. Her mommy is going to poop it out soon.”
*Crunch*
“Please chew with your mouth closed, okay?”
“Okay. I really like this celery, Mommy.”
“Celery.”
“Ceruly.”
“CEL-ERY.”
“CE-RUH-LEE.”
“Forget it,” I sighed, feeling my left eye twitching.
“Do you have a baby in your tummy right now, Mommy?” he asked, eyeing the food baby I’d been trying to lose since 1992.
“No, Oliver, I don’t.”
“Maybe you should try the sex with Mia’s daddy so you can get one.”
Now both eyes were twitching. I took a deep breath and pressed on. “It doesn’t work like that, buddy.”
Actually, it does, but Mia’s dad has questionable dental hygiene, and I’m pretty sure my husband wouldn’t approve. Focus, Emily.
“Sex is something that occurs when you really like someone—a girl, a boy, or even both,” I explained.
Oh boy, here we go again.
“Josh told me you get a baby by hugging and kissing someone really tight,” he said, licking the peanut butter off his fingers.
“No, honey, that’s not quite right. Sex is a special thing you do with your body and another person or group of people—definitely not animals or family.”
*Crunch*
Why didn’t I just stick with peanut butter and jelly?!
“Using protection is important if you want to avoid unwanted surprises like itchiness or… children.”
Oh dear.
“Mommy? Can I have more ceruly?”
“Sure.”
“Can I eat it downstairs?”
“Well…”
“Please? I’m bored and want to watch TV.”
In that moment, I couldn’t have been more grateful for a 5-year-old’s short attention span! “Yes, absolutely.”
He jumped from his chair, hugged me tightly, and declared, “You’re the bestest mommy in the whole wide world.”
Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I donned a string of pearls and headed for the Tupperware cabinet.