The Birds and the Bees

“I think it’s cool that you have eggs inside you,” Tommy said matter-of-factly as I settled down at the table to eat my dinner.

I picked up my fork. “Well. Thank you, Tommy.” I’m used to bizarre statements from him. He once informed me that he didn’t like his nipples.

“I have sperms,” Tommy continued.

I flicked my eyes at Natalie. That’s all I needed was for Natalie to repeat the word and ask her preschool teachers, “My brother has sperms. Do you?” Thankfully Natalie was busy poking her Hamburger Helper. Sometimes I feel like she plays with her food more than she eats it.

“You do, but it’s not really appropriate dinner conversation,” I explained.

“The sperms fertilize the egg and the cells divide and walah, a baby!” Tommy prattled on. He was reading from his book about the Human Body that he had in his lap. A couple of months ago he was curious on how babies grew inside women so he decided to learn all about it. This means I’ve had to endure many talks about eggs, sperm, uteruses, c-sections, “did they use scissors on your vagina?”, forceps…

“How about we put the book away for now?” I tried again. Was I not speaking English?

Tommy shut the book with a sigh. “I think it’s cool that you have a uterus, too,” he offered. He patted his stomach. “I don’t have one which means I won’t carry a baby.”

I chewed on my Cheeseburger Macaroni. “Well, at least you won’t lose your figure.”

Tommy took a bite of his dinner. “Do you know sometimes doctors have to use vacuums to get the baby out? They stick it on the baby’s head and,” he made a sucking sound, “the baby is pulled out like that.”

I probably shouldn’t have let him watch One Born Every Minute.

And now my macaroni was beginning to look like the goo that is sometimes on babies when they come out of the mother.

Gross.

“You’re done having babies, right?” Tommy asked worriedly.

“Unless I marry John Krasinski,” I answered.

Tommy blinked at me.

“Yes, Tommy, I’m done having babies.”

Tommy let out a breath of relief. “Good. I don’t want you to get fat again and plus, babies are loud and they hurt my ears.”

He really has such a nice way of putting things….

I sipped my Diet Coke. Tommy knows all about how babies grow…but I wasn’t sure if he knew how the sperm and the egg met. Should I ask him? Wasn’t he too young to know about sex? Wait, what if he knows about sex? There was that time when he walked in on Tom and I doing the nasty and I said something like, “Oh, we’re telling secrets!” Then Tom shot me a disbelieving look and went, “Telling secrets? What kind of thing is that to say?” I didn’t know. It was the first thing that came from my mouth. I mean, it’s startling to see your child staring wide-eyed at you from the doorway while you’re laying there in the buff.

“Tommy,” I began. I might as well inquire. Suppose he thought the sperm magically jumped in the woman? Clearly he was beyond the stork theory.

Tommy looked over.

“Do you know…..I mean, do you….it’s just that….” Oh God, I turned into Gary Busey. I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. “Do you know how…the egg and sperm meet?”

I win the award for Inappropriate Dinner Conversations.

Tommy stared at me as though I had just informed him that I didn’t have any underwear on.

Oh God. I embarrassed him. I had embarrassed my—

“Sex, of course.” Tommy said it easily, as though we were discussing the weather.

I almost fell out of my seat.

My nine-year-old used the s-word in front of me. My nine-year-old knew about….he knew…he…

My mouth turned dry. It felt like I had been sucking on cotton.

“You’re right,” I confirmed. “It’s….I…..”

“Mommy?” Tommy asked.

Oh no. Was it a sex question? I shouldn’t have even brought it up. I barely even remember what sex IS since Tom has been gone since August…

“Yes?” I replied meekly.

“Can we have ice cream for dessert?”

My shoulders sagged with relief. Tommy might know about sex, but he still wants ice cream.

He’s still my baby.

Who happens to know about uteruses.

Oh, he still believes in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

But he could talk your ear off about c-sections.

Neat.

I guess....