I knew this day would arrive. My radar has been tuned in for months, bracing for the moment. The Body Changes conversation. DUN-DUN-DUUUUN!
Flashbacks of my own childhood hit me hard as I recall sitting uncomfortably among my classmates, striving to appear nonchalant while internally planning my escape route to a far-off land. Just uttering the word “PENIS” could send half the classroom into a state of shock while the other half erupted into fits of nervous giggles. And when the DIAGRAM made its appearance, it felt like time stood still. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. There it was, boldly displayed with its awkward friend the scrotum, both inscribed in glaring letters on the chalkboard as if we were expected to take notes.
Honestly, what kind of word is scrotum? It just sounds unpleasant, no matter the context. Thankfully, I’m an adult now and no longer have to endure such potentially mortifying educational sessions unwillingly. My children, however, are not so fortunate. It’s an uncomfortable but necessary part of growing up. As a mother, I aim to make this journey as educationally painless as possible. While we don’t sit around the dinner table discussing human anatomy, I answer their inquiries in broad, age-appropriate terms. I mention the penis just like I would an elbow or any other body part, maintaining eye contact and keeping the awkwardness at bay.
Most importantly, I want to foster open communication. I prefer to guide their understanding rather than let them discover things online or hear misconceptions from kids at school. So, to prepare for this momentous occasion, I recently bought my child “the book” and encouraged her to read it at her leisure. I promised to sit down with her and discuss it when she felt ready.
An hour later, she tossed the book onto my lap. “Finished, Mom.”
I anticipated numerous questions, but none matched the following list.
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“You know those illustrations of how breasts develop? What stage are you in, Mom?”
“The last stage.”
“Umm, yours don’t look like that.”
What I wanted to say: “You’re incredibly observant, my dear. After four decades of life and three kids, my breasts have seen better days. Thanks for pointing it out and giving me yet another reason to avoid being naked at home.”
What I actually said: “Those are cartoon drawings. Real life doesn’t work like that.” -
“So, do you even need to wear a bra?”
What I wanted to say: “Wow, thanks for the unsolicited advice.”
What I actually said: “Not really, but it’s what society expects, and it makes me feel better.” -
“What’s that stuff that leaks into your underwear again?”
What I wanted to say: “Vaginal discharge.”
What I actually said: “Vagina juice.” I panicked. -
“What is ‘Virginia juice,’ Mom?”
What I wanted to say: “It’s pronounced ‘vagina,’ sweetie.”
What I actually said: “It’s pronounced ‘vagina,’ honey.” -
My middle child shouts from across the room: “Do I have a Virginia, Mommy?”
What I wanted to say: “It’s ‘vagina’! And yes, all girls have one.”
What I actually said: “Go play.” -
The same middle child who never listens: “What’s a Virginia, Mommy?”
What I wanted to say: “Stop saying Virginia! It’s VAGINA!”
What I actually said: “It’s a state, dear.” -
“Why is it called the ‘Public Area,’ Mommy? Because (nervous pointing and disgusted eye roll), it should not be public at all!”
What I wanted to say: “It’s actually the ‘Pubic Area,’ named after the bone there.”
What I actually said: “Exactly!” -
“What does menstruate mean?”
What I wanted to say: “It means once a month, your insides will feel like a battlefield, and you’ll want to punch everyone!”
What I actually said: “Every woman does it. It’s a gift that allows us to have children.” -
“Does Daddy do it?”
What I wanted to say: “Nope, lucky guy!”
What I actually said: “Nope, guys don’t do that. Only girls. We’re special.” -
“What does Daddy get to do?”
What I wanted to say: “Smile and have a penis.”
What I actually said: “Take out the trash.”
I was ready to explain where babies come from, show proper sanitary napkin use, and discuss societal shaving trends. Yet here I am, grappling with how to justify wearing a bra while explaining the quirky gravitational pull of my body and the inevitable monthly struggles. I want to convince my sweet daughters that all of this is something to embrace, like a whimsical celebration filled with unicorns and rainbows—just when they need reassurance the most.
I wish for a new topic to discuss. And maybe a little help in the breast department. Not necessarily in that order.
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In summary, navigating the changing bodies of our children can lead to some unexpected and often humorous inquiries. Maintaining open lines of communication and addressing these questions with honesty—while keeping it age-appropriate—can make the journey smoother for both kids and parents.
Keyphrase: Kids Questions About Body Changes
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