When is it the Right Time to Have That Awkward Sex-Talk with Your Kids?

I was out to dinner with some girlfriends when the topic turned to birth control methods – you know because chicks talk about everything. My sweet and always well-mannered friend (think Charlotte from Sex in the City) informed me that she knew I was taking the pill because my eight-year-old son Sam had told her and her four sons during carpool that his “mom takes pills so she doesn’t have babies.” Seriously. Now typically I wouldn’t disclose such things to an eight-year-old but two mornings in a row I discovered that my pill pack was off by a couple of days. The first day I chalked it up to forgetfulness. The second day I asked my husband angrily if he had been tampering with my pills which resulted in him belly laughing for ten straight minutes. And when he finally had collected himself and wiped the tears from his eyes he assured me it wasn’t him. Which left my two sons.

I sat both boys down and asked them if they had gone into my purse, had they taken anything they shouldn’t have, I wouldn’t be angry with them I just wanted them to be honest, yadda-yadda-yadda. They were both holding pretty firm even as I ramped up my interrogation techniques – threatening to take away electronics for an hour, a day, then I raised it to a week. They refused to crack. The mafia has nothing on my two sons. Desperate, I broke down and told them that I knew one or both of them had taken medicine out of my purse and eaten it. They needed to tell me who it was because this medicine could make them very sick (if you ever find yourself in a similar circumstance turns out they will be okay if they just take a few and it is out of their system in a few days – but I needed to scare them). Still nothing. I finally pulled out the big guns and told them that the pills help me to not have babies and if they didn’t want a little baby running around the house they better come clean. My oldest folded like a house of cards.

Mystery solved for me but I had opened Pandora’s Box for my youngest. I had already had the sex talk with my oldest, who I call my evil genius. My oldest does not like lengthy explanations and doesn’t suffer fools. So our sex talk happened spur of the moment in my bathroom as I was putting on makeup. He asked me where babies come from and so I took a deep breath in and told him as succinctly as possible. He thanked me and walked out of the room. I asked him on several occasions after our conversation if he had any questions but he shut me down and told me he was “fine.” Alrighty then.

So I’ve been prepping myself to have a much more robust, interesting talk with my youngest. He is my quizzical, loving, big-hearted baby boy so I knew the talk would have to be much different in nature. Turns out not so much. Right after I found out he had told everyone in the carpool that I take pills so I don’t have babies he asked my mother where babies come out of a woman. He offered her an out by asking if they come out of a woman’s belly button. My mom said “lower” Sam became confused and she told him he needed to ask his mother. Luckily that weekend we had some alone time and I asked him if he had any questions for me about where babies come from. He said he had “several.” And I was ready! I told him to ask away. This was my moment to shine – to tell him about the loving process of bringing a baby into the world! He started with the same question he had asked my mom: Where do babies come out of? “Well Sam,” I said with a smile, “babies come out of a woman’s private parts.” His eyes became wide as saucers and his jaw dropped. I asked him if he had any other questions to which he responded “no” and bolted from the room. So that went well.