talkin' the talk

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I'm not like a regular mom, I'm a cool mom. Right?

 

I mean, around here we talk about penises and vaginas (almost) daily. We've extensively discussed breast milk production and delivery. (Fun fact, Will is currently obsessed with nipples and, specifically, comparing nipples which is never awkward at all ...) We know that when a woman is pregnant that means she is carrying a tiny baby inside her body. And we even know the various "exit" mechanisms for those tiny babies when they are ready to make their debut into this world.

 

I've easily handled every question. I've had all the answers. Calm. Collected. Unflappable.

 

Until yesterday ... when I started to feel myself get flapped.
 

 

Early afternoon. Post movie playdate. Snuggled up on a couch with Joe across from a mama friend who happens to be pregnant and her son. 

 

The boys are discussing the pregnancy and becoming big brothers when the conversation inevitably turns to whether I am ever going to have another baby. We follow that train of thought through many, many questions, ultimately arriving at that magical combination of sperm and egg. 

Joe: But how does the sperm get there? 

Emily: What? (cue mini stroke) 

Joe: How does the sperm get into the egg? 

Emily: (relieved) Oh. It just swims right up to it inside the mommy's body and then it turns into a baby. 

Joe: (pause) 

Emily: And then that baby eventually turns into a very big and very silly boy.

 

Boys laugh hysterically and run off to play as mothers exchange wide-eyed "holy shit, I thought it was about to be on" looks.

 

Flappity, flap, flap, flap.

Another experience that proves I'm not at all as cool as I thought I was. Realistically, I know the actual sex talk is probably many years away. And I can totally handle it, right?

 

olive juice, okay?

emily

p.s. Just for fun, this song and this song.