Let me set the scene. It’s nearly time for school, the boy is happily ensconced in front of the telly while we wait for the taxi (yes we have to commute to stupid school and no I can’t bloody drive yet because TESTS and ROUNDABOUTS and INSANE London drivers mayhem – usually get a lift but do have to taxi occasionally)
I decide to have a quick squizz on Twitter and see a lovely blog by my pal Emma about her decision not to have any more babies. Ah babies. Brooody.
Here’s the resulting conversation and Inner Monologue to go with it.
“Rian, would you like a little brother or sister?”
Ah he always says that. It’s not really up to him though is it, I’m sure he’d be ok if we did. I don’t think we’d catch him trying to drop baby down loo or anything like that I…eh?
Rian: “Do you really get babies from kissing?”
Shit. Err. Do they still say that at school? I remember people saying that. Right, lets nip this one in the bud.
“No, of course not darling, we would be over run with babies wouldn’t we if we get them from kissing!” **manic laughter**
Oh please leave it as that…please…please…
“How do you get a baby then?”
“Err…you need to decide you want to be a Mummy and Daddy!”
Rian: “Does it hurt?”
“No, of course not it’s very nice”
Shit! Why did I say that? He”ll be even more interested if I say it’s nice! It is nice though I suppose, that bit of proceedings. Not too sure about the rest mind. Crap he’s got that thinking look on his mush. Please please please. God I should have planned this conversation, what did my Mum tell me when I asked? What did I used to think? Stork? No I’m not telling him some lanky bird delivers babies to people’s doorsteps. I don’t want him to be like my friend who thought lesbian was another word for alien until she was fourteen because that’s what her Mum told her when she asked and then she asked her mates if they’d seen the Steven Spielberg film about the little brown lesbian and they thought she was mental.
“But how do the babies get inside your tummy? Do you put them in your belly button?”
Faaaaack! Oh I’m blushing now, why am I blushing? My ears are burning, I haven’t gone this red since the wind blew my maxi skirt over my head at the bottom of the escalators at Oxford Circus and approximately 1349 people saw my arse and I couldn’t get the damn thing to stay down.
“Err…well…err, Mummy’s and Daddy’s have a special kind of cuddle, and if they are lucky it makes a baby”
“So if I cuddle you will you have a baby?”
OH MY GOD!!!! I can’t have him telling his friends at school that if they cuddle their mothers they’ll get pregnant! They’ll tell their mothers and they’ll think I’m a deviant!
“No, no darling, only Mummy’s and Daddy’s”
“But Matty at nursery had two Mummy’s…did they do a special cuddle?”
Kill me. Kill me now. This is literally the worst moment of my parenting career. My five year old is grilling me about sex and I want a hole to swallow me up. And now I’m thinking in Freudian imagery, yey!
“Well, everyone does have a Daddy somewhere, but some people live with two Mummy’s or two Daddy’s, or just with one of either or other family, it’s all a lovely mix”
He’s looking puzzled, quick I’ll get him a biscuit. Ok, all biscuits have been eaten. Whose eaten those I only bought them yesterday, greedy bastards. Aargh, distract him distract him…
“How do babies come out of your tummy? Is it like a poo?”
“Not exactly darling…oh look, the cab! Now you can play with my phone if you like?!?! Yes??”
Please agree please agree please agree, if he starts yabbering on about pooing out babies in the taxi I might actually die of embarrassment, I’m pretty sure that is a genuine possibility…
Phew! I hope I remembered to put my deodorant on this morning…