Michelle Kemper Brownlow: When my son started asking "those" questions, I tried to put him off.
I tried to get out of it by saying, "Bud, listen, there is no rush for this. My only deadline for having THE conversation is that I be the one to have it with you, and NOT your friends." His response? "Then you better tell me this weekend."
Oh, God help me!
We planned a date at Ruby Tuesday's. Just me and my firstborn (sob).
The waiter came and got our drink orders (strawberry lemonade in a fancy glass for him, and a large, unsweetened iced tea for me). We talked about ... I have no idea what. I was just composing the speech in my head: "Horrible diseases ... pregnancy ... not until you are married ... horns will grow out of your eyes if you do, and then I will know -- and you will be grounded until you are married!" I was ready. Bring it on! Please forget!
The waiter took our orders. My son leaned across the table, took my hands in his and said, "So, ya gonna tell me the facts of life, or what?!"
I took a deep breath and started with God. "You have heard the word 'sex'? (He nods.) Well, sex is something God created for married people to do to show how much they love each other. It is also something they do to make a baby." The room started to spin .... (WHERE ARE THOSE SHOTS?!) Some more was said, and then I moved on.
Periods, eggs, sperm ... oh my! I remember saying, "The sperm has to find the egg to make a baby."
This is where the smoke appeared. The gears in his brain were fighting this connection tooth and nail! His eyebrows formed shapes I had never seen before. And then it got gory. I gave it to him. The whole shebang.
There is something wrong with saying "p----" and "v-----" to your 11-year-old son. So, here I was: "P----," blah blah blah. "V-----," blah blah blah. DONE!
My son's head dangled between the palms of his hands, held up only by his elbows on the table. He looked at me with a glazed-over, not-so-sure-what-to-say stare. His mouth dropped open a bit, and before the drool started to form in the corners of his lips, he uttered six words I will giggle about for as long as I live: "I am so sorry I asked."
Seeing his need to have some time to make sense of it all, I asked, "Do you want me to go grab my salad and give you a minute?" He nodded as well as he could -- the pressure of his hands on his temples risked causing brain damage.
When I got back to the table, he had changed positions. He was now in the fetal position in the corner of his side of his booth. Poor kid.
"Um, well, that is the GROSSEST thing I have ever heard of," he said. "I am NEVER doing that. Well, actually, I will do it ONCE but ONLY ONCE!! I want at least one baby of my own that is from me and my wife, but after that I am SO adopting!"
He ate NOTHING that night. We took his whole dinner home in a box. He was nauseous and horrified and has no interest in S-E-X! He now gags when Ruby Tuesday commercials come on TV!
Two words: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!