When my blond-haired angel was five-years-old, her favorite baby-sitter and beloved auntie announced she was expecting her first child. Naturally, the questions no parent of young children is quite ready to answer flowed from her gap-toothed mouth in a torrential flood that could wash away a small to medium town. Did I mention this whole scene took place at a family birthday party in front of everyone? Or that all conversation ceased when my first born began talking?
I did my best to answer the inquisition as honestly as possible without scarring her for life. All the while, I was extremely aware she would repeat every word of it for the rest of her life. Her favorite audience was and is my mom, and her three-year-old sister. With this in mind, I got creative:
“Mommy, where do babies come from?” she asked.
“Mommies and daddies,” I replied. Then, in a stroke of genius, I preempted the next logical question. “The baby grows in the mommy’s tummy.” Like a fool, I smiled smugly.
Innocent hazel eyes blinked at me and didn’t pause for a moment. “Mommy, how does the baby get out of her tummy?”
Sweaty difficult hours replayed in a matter of seconds. How could I explain the excruciating pain and fierce joy that are child birth. She waited more patiently than I’ve ever seen her wait before while I squirmed and racked my brain for the right words. Finally, I gave up and told her the next thing to pop into my head. “When it’s time for the baby to be born, the. Mommy goes to the hospital. Then, the doctor helps the baby come out and everyone goes home a little while later.”
“That makes sense,” she said, nodding.
I waited for the next question, sweat trickling down my back. Spotting her sister, my oldest ran off to tell her where babies come from. I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at my pregnant sister in-law who couldn’t seem to stop laughing for some reason. In fact, the whole room was filled with laughter from everyone, except my husband who was busy sipping a fresh glass of wine.
I breathed a sigh of relief and allowed a smile to replace the grimace that was there before. I thought I’d gotten off easy on the whole where do babies come from topic. For a blissful month, we looked forward to a new cousin joining the family. All was well until we had a family barbecue. As we sat around the table chatting and consuming way too much, my cherub-cheeked darling caused me a sudden bout of choking.
“Mommy, does Auntie Sheryl’s baby like to eat steak?” my five-year-old asked.
“What?” I was dumbfounded.
“The baby in her tummy,” she looked at me as if I’d forgotten my own name. “That’s where food goes when she eats it. She’s eating steak, does the baby like steak?”
My mouth stopped working at exactly the same time my brain was derailed by my five-year-old’s logic theorem. The truth was my only defense against her logic and my laughing family. “The thing is, Lauren, the baby grows in a different part of a mommy than her stomach.” I was pleased with this use of the anatomical terms she was learning in preschool.
“What’s it called?”
“Huh?” I asked, hoping taking a bite wasn’t a mistake.
My daughter didn’t miss a beat. “Where the baby grows, what’s it called?”
I chewed slowly debating which word sounded less bizarre coming back out of her mouth. “Its called a uterus. Boys don’t have them, only girls.”
Understanding dawned in her wide eyes. “Oh, just like girls don’t have wieners!” she crowed happily.
I could only nod for fear of laughing. She understood perfectly. At least only family had witnessed the uncomfortable conversation. Or so I’d hoped, but I should’ve known better. A few months later, during her pre-Kindergarten well check, our regular doctor had a medical student observing for three weeks.
After obtaining my permission for his male student to observe, our pediatrician went through the entire procedure without a hitch, until the last five minutes. Only the physical exam remained. All through the previous forty minutes, our pediatrician narrated for the medical student each thing he was doing. As he felt my daughter’s abdomen, he explained he was checking her liver and other internal organs. Then he turned to my giggling, ticklish child.
“What else is in here for me to check?” the doctor asked.
My daughter’s face lit into the smile she gets when she is proud of herself, and announced, “My uterus!”
The good doctor looked at me and laughed. His student glanced looked like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not. I shrugged and shook my head. “She’s going to have a new cousin soon,” I explained and shrugged.
“Well, you certainly have the words right,” he praised my daughter.
“If I was a boy, I’d have a wiener,” Lauren announced.
Fortunately, the appointment was over at that point and I was able to gracefully flee to my car. My daughter left not just with a clean bill of health, but some new stickers and confidence in her own knowledge. I left feeling proud of her and glad we didn’t have another appointment for six months.
She just turned twelve and I'm still not sure how that happened so fast from the little girl who surprised the doctor with her anatomy knowledge.