“Mom, what’s sex?” my son Leo inquired, fiddling with the tag on his superhero pajamas.
“Uh, well, it’s a bit complicated. We should get ready for school. Remember, you’re finishing your Leprechaun trap today!” Thank goodness we were running late again.
I always knew this moment would arrive; I just didn’t expect it to happen amid fairy tales, superhero antics, and the umpteenth reading of The Cat in the Hat.
After a quick online search for “sex talk with a 5-year-old,” I learned I should respond promptly to nurture trust and model a healthy perspective on the subject. Apparently, his curiosity was perfectly normal, but my plan to postpone this conversation until he was 37 was not the best approach.
I went down the rabbit hole of Google searches, feeling the pressure build to embody the “perfect mom” I envisioned. You know the type—whose kitchen cabinets don’t spill their contents every time they open, who wipes the ketchup bottle with care, and who tends to their garden in pearls and manicured nails. Above all, these moms are always ready to discuss important topics like this one.
When Leo returned from school, I prepared him a snack of celery with peanut butter and raisins, arranging the raisins just right to mimic the famous “ants on a log” I had spotted on Pinterest.
We settled at the kitchen table. I inhaled deeply and adopted an expression of earnestness. “Sweetheart, I wanted to talk about your question from this morning.”
Crunch
“What question? And why do you look so funny?” he asked.
“About…you know, what you asked me earlier.” I hoped he had forgotten.
Crunch
“Oh right, sex. My friend Mia said her mom and dad did the sex, and now she has a baby in her tummy, and it’s going to come out soon.”
Crunch
“Sweetie, can you chew with your mouth closed, please?”
“Sure! I love this cerely, Mommy.”
“Celery.”
“Cerely.”
“CEL-ER-EE.”
“CE-RUH-LEE.”
“Forget it,” I muttered, feeling my eye twitch.
“Mommy, do you have a baby in your tummy?” he asked, glancing at the food baby I’ve been trying to hide.
“No, honey, I don’t.”
“Maybe you should do the sex with Mia’s dad to get one.”
Now both my eyes were twitching. I took a deep breath. “It doesn’t work like that, Leo.”
Actually, it does, but Mia’s dad has a questionable smile, and I’m pretty sure my husband wouldn’t approve. Focus, Jamie.
“Sex is something that happens when you love someone or really, really like a girl or a boy or both sometimes.”
Oh dear. My nerves unleashed a flood of words.
“My friend Ben said you get a baby by giving someone a big hug and kiss,” he said, licking the peanut butter off his fingers.
“No, sweetie, that’s not right. Sex is… well, it’s a special thing you do with your body and another person or group of people—definitely not with animals or family—who feel the same way you do.”
Crunch
Why didn’t I just stick to making peanut butter and jelly?
“Protection is key if you want to avoid unwanted issues like itchiness or children.”
Oh good grief.
“Mommy? Can I have more cerely?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Can I eat it downstairs?”
“Um…”
“Please? I’m bored and want to watch TV.”
Thank goodness for a 5-year-old’s short attention span! “Yes, of course!”
He jumped up, hugged me tightly, and exclaimed, “You’re the best mommy ever!”
With an eye roll and a grin, I donned my pearls and prepared to tackle the Tupperware cabinet.