Years ago, when my husband, Jake, and I were still young, wild, and without kids, I decided to throw a party. Think of it as one of those gatherings for LuLaRoe or Thirty-One, but instead, it was all about plastic phalluses, bizarre flavored gels, and edible underwear. (Seriously, have you ever examined those edible undies up close? They look like fruit roll-ups or some variation of fruit leather. Who wants to chew on a fruit roll-up infused with pubes? And nothing’s sexy about anyone gnawing on a fruit roll-up, let me tell you.) I digress.
Just an hour before the party kicked off, I was hit with a terrible stomach virus. Too late to cancel, I ended up barricaded in our bedroom with a trash can nearby while Jake graciously took over hosting duties. To my surprise, he had a hidden talent for selling adult toys (who would’ve guessed?). The products flew off the shelves, and I ended up selecting a big, blue, sparkly, motorized, rotating toy as my free gift.
Now, fast forward a few years. Our oldest son, Max, was about five, and while rummaging through our recently organized bedroom closet, he stumbled upon my ‘vintage treasure.’ Suddenly, I heard an enthusiastic buzzing sound followed by a “Whoa!” My heart dropped as I turned to see Big Blue in all its spinning, vibrating glory, tightly held in his little hands. “What’s this?” he asked, eyes wide with amazement.
Oh no. Stay calm, I thought. If I act like it’s something off-limits, he’ll want to investigate more. “It’s…an antique,” I replied, trying to sound casual while snatching it from him. “Uh, I’ll just put this away.” My cheeks burned with the kind of embarrassment only a parent can understand when their child innocently discovers their vibrator. I quickly ushered him out, placing Big Blue on the highest shelf, hidden behind a mountain of junk.
“What’s an antique?” he called out from outside the closet. I can’t recall my exact words; we tend to block out traumatic moments, right? But evidently, it stuck with him.
Recently, while visiting my mom, I playfully teased her about a ceramic cat she bought in the ‘80s. “If you keep that cat much longer, it’ll be an antique,” I joked. Without missing a beat, Max chimed in, “Hey, like your antique!”
Wait, what? I don’t own any antiques. “What antique?” I asked, genuinely confused. “You know,” he said, clearly exasperated that I didn’t remember, “the big sparkly blue thing in your closet that buzzes and spins! Is it an old toy? Can we play with it?”
Oh. My. Gosh. My son was bringing up my vibrator in front of my mother! “Oh, that?” I said, attempting nonchalance while my insides cringed. “I think I tossed it out ages ago.” But truth be told, I hadn’t. And now, I might just have to.
For more relatable parenting stories like mine, check out these tips on boosting fertility. And if you’re exploring options for home insemination, this guide is an excellent resource. Don’t forget to glance over Healthline’s insights on pregnancy and IVF for additional support.
In summary, navigating parenting can lead to some truly awkward moments, especially when it comes to our pasts. Whether it’s a forgotten toy or a questionable vintage item, just remember: what happens in the closet, stays in the closet—unless your kid finds it first.
Keyphrase: Mom’s vintage treasure
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