Search for the Truth

As we're expecting the 6th and final installment in this crazy household (due in January) there's been a little interest recently in the biological facts of life. I've dodged the questions, created diversions and distractions, suggested it'd be a conversation better suited to when the Rooster is home and even taken a deep breath .................. and run off screaming to hide under the bed.

But alas, my children's search for knowledge is insatiable and they are determined to continue on their quest. And discover the truth.

HOW did that baby get into your tummy. And HOW is going to get out?




This is one of those tough aspects of parenting for which you are never quite prepared. And, in my case I suspect, also one of those aspects of parenting that you mess up no matter how much practise you get.
And I've already had some practise.


When I was pregnant with the Boombah, the elder two boys were a little curious as to how he got in there. Of course, as with the current situation, such questions arose when the Rooster was working away. (I'm beginning to think it's part of his plan - knock me up and get the hell outta here so he can avoid dealing with the hairy questions!) It fell on my shoulders to ensure our older sons received an age-appropriate lesson on the biological processes of conception, pregnancy and birth. It was my duty to send my young men out into the world armed with truth, knowledge and understanding about this delicate and incredible part of life. I carried the burden of education, increased awareness and understanding in the future generation.

And so I sat Tubby and the Rabbit (then aged about 8 and 5) down at the kitchen bench, took a deep breath, and began.
I described the body and the basic differences between a man and woman. All good. I explained that things were different inside as well. All good. I chose to use the word "womb" instead of uterus, as it seemed easier for a small mind to remember and gentler on the lips of a 5 year old. Not so good.
The Rabbit's eyes opened in horror and he began gasping. About me having a "worm" inside me.

Then I spoke briefly about ovaries and eggs. Tubby wondered if I'd cluck like a chicken, and could he have an omelette next time please?

We moved (hurriedly) on from anatomy to body functions. The delicate matter of the act of conception. Tubby brightened up when he realised this part involved a "race" and that he was the result of a winning sperm! He had won a race against millions before he was even born. Yes, impressive, I know!

Then began the questions on how the eggshell was cracked. And was it like baking a cake? And did the sperm need to bash the egg on the side of a bowl or hit it with a knife?
They're both still convinced the "act" of babymaking involves the man peeing on the woman.

And then we quickly descended into a whole host of inappropriate jokes and hysterical giggles. Peppered with me attempting to clarify what they had clearly misunderstood, and both boys hiding under the bench, ears covered, squealing "Oh GROSS Mu-um!".
And then popping back up for another joke or crude remark.

At about this point I gave up trying to teach anything, fix something or correct any misconceptions. I think it was about this point that I did the aforementioned deep breath, followed by running off screaming to hide under the bed.

So you can possibly understand why I am reluctant to embark on this educational journey again. And why I am keen to make any and every effort to avoid a re-attempt until the Rooster is home to do his share. And by his share I mean, it's HIS turn to explain it all. Preferably to the whole brood, unborn baby included! I never want to go there again!

Clearly the "birds and the bees" talk is not my forte as a parent. Although I suspect I am a step up from the Rooster's Dad, who cornered him one day and gruffly muttered "Boy - always wear a quandong"!