I’ve talked about sperms. I’ve talked about eggs. I’ve talked about body parts in the best way I know how. I have been determined to raise girls who are comfortable with their own biology, educated, and above all, accurate. Even if it’s not always easy.
I thought I was doing a pretty good job. Until a few days ago, when my youngest daughter reported to me with great glee, just how babies are made.
Well first the sperm from Daddy and the egg from you got together and then I became an egg. Then I hopped right into your butt, and then grew into your belly. When I cracked open, I came out and that’s how I became a baby.
Um, wow. You hopped into my butt?
So the egg was outside my body and then…hopped right in?
And so you think that you were like in a chicken egg? One that cracks open and you hatch?
Hm. Where did you get that one from, Sage? The kids at school? Julia? Nico?
Grandma? Grandma who is so interested in accuracy that she handed out tampons at my third grade birthday party? Somehow I don’t think that’s true.