Cora: When I grow up, I'm going to be a mom. Because I'm a girl.
Me [east bay parenting alert!]: Not all women choose to have kids, you know. Just because you're a girl doesn't automatically mean you'll be a mom. It's a choice.
Jonas [ashen-faced, wide eyed, smoke drifting from ears]: What did you say?
Me (shit shit shit, why is he looking at me like that): Huh?
Jonas: What do you you mean it's a choice; having a baby?
At this point, Jonas is staring at me so intently that I can practically hear him thinking. And I can definitely hear his next question. The one that would come immediately after I said this:
"You have to make a baby."
And in that instant, in that loaded stare-off between me and my very nearly 6-year-old son, I punked out and dodged the question. I didn't want to deal with the inevitable "how?" that would come next.
I tell Jonas the truth as much as possible. If he asks, I answer as appropriately and honestly as I can. As such, we've covered death, God, war, poverty, murder, immigration, jail, gun control & the death penalty. And I wonder why he worries.
But apparently, sex is where I draw the line. Slavery? Sure. Nazis? Concentration camps? Covered them last week. Where do babies come from? I'll defer to Cora:
"They are in your stomach and then they EXPLODE out of your belly button and then there they are. Right, mom?"
Me: Pretty much.
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