All In Good Time, A Bit At A Time

Every parent looks forward to sharing certain events with their children.

We spent evening after evening in the street teaching them to ride a bike. Their dad gave them helmets and let them go for it after a couple of lessons.

I continued to hold on to the seat of the bike and run behind them even after it was obvious that they didn’t need my help anymore.

It’s hard to let go when you know what could happen.

Yes, we’ve joyfully celebrated numerous milestones of their growing independence and maturity. And then it happened. That moment every parent dreads.

Little Dustin asked me: “Where do babies come from?”

Ai-yi-yi!!!!

My spouse and I were forced to deal with this sensitive subject by two recent events. First, we learned that my eldest boy would soon be shown “the video” in PE. You know - the one that talks about the differences between boys and girls and why they have every reason to hate each other.

The second event was a conversation I overheard one day when I was washing dishes and my boys were lying on the floor and watching television.

“Justin, are you ever going to have kids?” Dustin asked his older brother.

He quickly responded: “No way, man! I hate girls! I’m never gonna get married, so I’ll never have any kids.”

I must say that I was pleased with his response.

Justin continued: “Dustin, you better never, ever kiss a girl, because that’s how you make babies.”

Dustin, my baby, corrected his big brother. “No, you have to lay on them while you kiss them to make a baby.”

I started choking on the air, and they both turned to watch me sputter and wheeze. The room started spinning, and my heartbeat was very irregular.

As soon as I heard my husband’s car in the driveway that evening, I rushed to the door to tell him about the boys’ discussion. We agreed that it was indeed time for The Talk.

I tried to persuade him that it was his responsibility because we have boys. He thought I should do it because of my medical background.

We compromised. We went to the video store and rented “What’s Happening to Me?,” a neat video about puberty, and “Where Do Babies Come From,” a horror movie for shy parents.

The following evening, we brought the boys into the den and explained what we were going to see and why. They protested. We sweated.

I barely survived the puberty video. I was so embarrassed that I looked like a beet. My husband and I didn’t blink or move the entire time. Afterward, we discussed the movie - sort of. They didn’t have any questions or comments. Thank goodness.

Then, my husband switched videos and I panicked. I couldn’t make it through the opening credits showing the mommy and daddy hugging.

“I’m going in the other room,” I announced, “This is a father-son thing.” I ran into my bedroom before my husband could stop me.

When the video ended, I returned to the den.

“Boys, do you have any questions?” I asked in a tone of voice that indicated I would prefer that they not ask me anything. They just stared at me. Dustin looked disgusted. I felt like my pedestal had been shattered and I was now just a girl in their eyes.

“Well, you can ask me anything at any time. OK? I want you to come to me or Dad and not your friends whenever you need to know more about any of these things. Don’t ask your friends, because they don’t know any more than you do.”

They just kept staring at me. Finally, Dustin said, “Mom, did you do that when you got pregnant with me and Justin?”

I’m sure I had a heart attack, but unfortunately I didn’t die. I looked at my husband with the anguished expression of a goldfish in a plastic bag riding a roller coaster at Six Flags.

“Boys,” I said, “do you remember the story of Mary and Joseph in the Bible?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t that a wonderful story? I love that story even though it happened thousands of years ago. And you know, nothing like that has ever happened again.”

Their puzzled expressions were comforting. “In fact, I’m going to go read that story again right now. Does anyone want to hear a Bible story?”

“No,” they replied in unison.

“OK, then, I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

As I closed the bedroom door, I could feel those invisible strings stretch and grow taut. I let out a little more line, as though I was flying a kite on a windy day.

Some day I’ll cut those strings and let my children fly away into the horizon, as every mother has to do sooner or later. But for now, I’m holding on with both hands.

It’s hard to let go when you know what could happen.

xxxx