The Birds and the Bees -- Part I

A couple of weeks ago, I was out shopping with Skyler and Jagger.  Five-year old Skyler was charged with the task of helping me find a new skirt.  Feeling pleased that I had a daughter to be my shopping buddy, I let her know that I loved shopping with her. 

"Are you happy you had a daughter?" she asked, referring to the times I have told her that before I had kids I always hoped for a daughter.

"Very glad," I said, my heart swelling.

"But are you glad you had a boy second?" she followed, referring to the times I explained that even though I always wanted a daughter, I was so happy to have a boy, as I never imagined I could love a boy as much as I love my girl.

"I'm thrilled to have a boy, too,"  I assured her, as I rifled through a rack of sale items.

"By the way, Mommy, how do babies get in your tummy?" 

I stopped dead in my tracks.  The dreaded question had been thrust upon me without any warning whatsoever, in a setting in which I was at my most unguarded -- the mall, my safe haven from all matters weighty. 

Here are the thoughts that ran through my head in that split second while my little girl looked up at me expectantly (pardon the pun):

1)  Dammit, Randy, where are you when I need you most.

2)  Should I lie and say the stork drops off babies in the hospital and mommy just had a big tummy right before Jagger was born because she couldn't stop eating ice cream.

3)  I could go the clinical route and use highly technical terms that she can't possibly pronounce/remember, thus eliminating the possibility that she will educate the entire kindergarten class on human sexuality and also eliminating the possibility that she will know anything about sex.

4)  Maybe Randy won't be in a meeting and she can talk to him about it on my cell phone after I park her on a bench with a Cinnabon and some lemonade.

What I ended up doing is telling her that I want to tell her how babies get in mommies' tummies but that we need to talk about it when we have more time and when we aren't in the mall. 

"Like when we get to our car after you find a skirt, Mommy?" she asked.

I thought to myself, Dammit Randy where are you when I need you most?  And why can't our daughter take a hint and know when to drop a topic that I so obviously want to avoid?

I explained to Skyler that we would talk about it another time, when she is a little bit older.  And I will talk about it with her, but not now when she is only five years old.  I do want her to get her answers from Randy and me, and not from a classmate, or worse, a classmate's older sibling.  I just have to figure out an age-appropriate way to introduce her to those concepts.  (For Randy, "age appropriate" would be something that is appropriate when she is 35). 

"No, Skyler, I mean another day.  But, hey, what do you think about this skirt for me?" 

"Hmm, I don't think that's your style, Mommy.  But what about this one?"  said Skyler, holding up a hot pink super fluffy gauzy number that is clearly more her style than mine.

"I think that one might be perfect," I told her.  I held my breath waiting to see how she would continue to pursue the subject of babies. 

"Let's take turns trying it on!"  Skyler suggested, already skipping off to the dressing room, and thereby deferring for another day the discussion about the birds and the bees.