I can’t help but point fingers at The Good Wife. Yes, a rerun. In my mind, the moment our innocent little girl lost her naivete was directly tied to a sultry elevator scene from that show—one my partner and I, in a fit of spontaneity, decided to reenact in our living room. Will we face a lawsuit? Unlikely. But we might need to contribute to her future therapy fund!
“Mommy! Daddy! Where are your clothes?” our eight-year-old daughter chimed, bursting in on our intimate moment. Usually, the only interruptions we encounter during our private time are the nagging thoughts racing through my head—like the endless list of tasks I could tackle with that rare free time. Updating the budget or catching up on celebrity gossip, perhaps. And let’s not forget the questionable midnight snacks that beckon. Is that too much to ask?
It probably won’t surprise you that our sex life, apart from a rather memorable encounter in a Macy’s stairwell last year (now I’ve got your attention!), is limited to a weekly routine. Is it fulfilling? Sure. Does it foster connection? Absolutely. Is it earth-shattering? Only now and then.
That Sunday evening, however, was one of those rare moments. No grocery lists hovering in my mind—at least not for me. Just as we were getting cozy, our daughter, who had been sound asleep upstairs, quietly ventured down the stairs. In a typical scenario, she’d be calling out for water or a cuddly hug from the safety of her bed. But that night, she chose to make her presence known in person.
Out of nowhere, our little princess came face-to-face with my wide-awake, naked self. As she approached, her laughter bubbled up, and she asked through giggles, “What are you doing?” The hilarity was contagious, and we scrambled to grab cushions to cover ourselves, urging her to head back to bed while we joined her shortly. When she didn’t budge, her laughter growing, she reiterated, “What are you doing? Where are your clothes?”
Once she finally retreated upstairs, we let out a collective sigh of relief and hurried to dress. Figuring out the right way to handle this delicate situation could either bring us closer together or lead to an argument. My partner suggested we just deny everything (cha-ching goes the therapy fund again), before dryly asking, “Where’s the manual?” referring to the mythical parenting guide that would tell us how to navigate this awkward moment. “We should be honest with her,” I declared, a mix of bravado and panic coursing through me. “Just follow my lead,” which really meant, “Please don’t make this worse.”
What happened next is a blur, but somehow it became one of my proudest parenting moments. We cuddled with our daughter on her fluffy bedspread, and I began explaining the situation: “Mommy and Daddy were making love, our clothes ended up on the couch, and even though we’re a little giddy right now, making love is a good thing and a way for grown-ups to express their love for each other.”
To my surprise, instead of ending the conversation there, I asked, “Do you have any questions?” And of course, she had plenty! Curious inquiries included: “Why do you and Daddy have to be naked?” “Why were you on Daddy’s lap?” and “Are you going to have a baby?” (Her curiosity struck a strange balance of pride and panic in me).
We engaged in a thorough discussion about love, intimacy, and baby-making, and as our daughter peppered us with questions, we took deep breaths and responded honestly. This unexpected crisis turned into a warm bonding experience, and I hope it becomes a story she can recount without needing too much therapy later on. We wrapped up the conversation with the statement, “Making love is fun and feels good. You might want to do that someday when you’re older and in love.”
“Ewww! I doubt that will happen, Mom,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. With a sleepy sigh and a hug, she sent us off. The Good Wife was waiting for us.