The Birds and the Bees

Last week, we were gathered in the front room, talking about the creation of the earth. When we got to the part where God created people, my youngest lay down on the floor, did this spread-eagle thing with his arms and legs, and groaned like he was going to throw up or something. 

"What are you doing?" I asked him. 

Jake screamed, then contorted his face into a grimace and bore down. "Hunnnngh," he said. Now, instead of throwing up, it looked like he was having a difficult bowel movement. That reminded me of how one of our kids (who shall remain nameless because he is at that age when this might embarrass him), would climb up to the toilet when he was little, grunt for a few moments, then pronounce, "Nuffin," with an air of great dissatisfaction. He would say this aloud, whether or not someone accompanied him to the bathroom. Then you'd hear the scuffle of a little wooden stool as he descended his throne. It made it quite easy to keep track of his bowel movements. Plus, it always made us laugh. 

But Jake never said, "Nuffin." He just kept on grunting, crossing his eyes for greater effect. I repeated my question.

"I'm having a baby," Jake answered. 

I looked at Rick, who looked back at me and shrugged. Where had this kid seen a woman having a baby? Rick thought for a moment and said, "Star Trek?" We've seen the movie twice, and it does indeed begin with a woman in labor being wheeled through a crashing space ship by a one-eyed nurse. The woman screamed a lot, and I must say she did look authentically sweaty as she winced in mock pain. It was not like some of those shows that make the pregnant woman look like she'd swallowed a wad of lumpy cotton and was shrieking like a sissy to get it out. In those shows, the doctor might as well clip some threads with embroidery scissors at the end of the ordeal rather than snip an umbilical cord. "Congratulations," he could say, "You've just given birth to a throw pillow." 

The whole family stared at Jake. "You're a boy," his brother said. "You can't have babies." Jake paused, as if contemplating the details of baby making. And that's when I realized we haven't had "The Talk" with this child. I'm not looking forward to that one. It was bad enough with the first two. When we told them about sex a couple years ago, they looked at each other, with an expression on their faces that could only be interpreted as "gross." I couldn't even make eye contact through the whole discussion, choosing to sit silently examining the fabric on the chair while my husband briefly revealed, in scientific terms, how babies are conceived. When my husband cracked open an anatomy book he had borrowed from the library, our boys looked at the illustrations with the same polite interest you'd look at a friend's vacation photos. I was worried that the kids would eventually ask, "You and Mom don't do this, do you?" But when Rick was done talking, the boys had no questions. 

But I think at least one kid is on to us. The other night when it seemed the children were asleep, I tapped Rick on the shoulder and announced that the planets were in alignment. Shortly thereafter, I went out to the hallway to check on the children. That's when I found our oldest sitting in his bed, completely awake, watching a show on his brother's ipod, head phones plugged into his ears. Although we'd done our best to keep quiet, our bed is rather squeaky, and our oldest, always a light sleeper, had just switched bedrooms to the one adjacent to ours. I wondered if the head phones meant that he either didn't want to make a sound or didn't want to hear a sound--or sounds, in this case. I feared the worst. 

My son looked up as I approached the doorway. I gestured for him to take his headphones off. "Did we wake you up?" I asked. He looked away. 

"Well?" I said, smiling nervously. 

"Um…no," he said slowly. "I was just…scared." 

Scared of what? I wanted to ask. But I already knew the answer. Just imagining your parents having sex is bad enough. But hearing it? That's the stuff of nightmares. 

The next night as our kids watched television in the basement, my husband conducted an experiment. He stepped into the boys' bedroom and told me to bounce on our bed a little to make it squeak. I obeyed. After just a few moments of this he hollered, "Stop, just stop." He came back to our room, his face red with embarrassment. 

"You can hear it, all right," he said. "Loud and clear."

I wondered if spraying WD-40 on our bed would solve the problem. Or perhaps KY Jelly? I thought of suggesting abstinence, but for some reason didn't think Rick would go for this idea. And that's when I came up with the perfect solution. Our oldest should live with his grandparents. Because, you know, there wouldn't be anything for him to hear in the wee hours of the night. I can't imagine that our parents do that sort of thing anymore. 

Or do they? Oh dear. I think I'm going to have nightmares tonight.

Comments

[Traci]

thanks for the late night laugh!! that totally cracks me up! i think we will all get some good story like this throughout our life time, right???

[Alicia Fish]

Giggle giggle giggle... and I mean this in a very horrified way. That is just too funny and fear of the future is lerking... but being on some pretty strong pain pills, all I can do is giggle.