The Birds and The Bees

Despite the fact I own my own home, I am a mother to two children and I’m actually getting married next year, I have to admit, I rarely feel like a proper grown-up.

Nope, not mature in the slightest. I’m definitely still waiting for the day that I wake up and think ‘today, I am an adult’.

Perhaps it’s the responsibility of motherhood that leaves me wondering when this day will come. As someone who still phones her mum to ask how long one should boil an egg for, it often fills me with horror to think my own children view me as an equally trustworthy and reliable source of wisdom.

I don’t think these feelings have anything to do with having my children so young either. I’d venture they’re a common symptom of parenthood in general. In fact, I can remember my Dad telling me that even in his mid-40s and despite his role as father of two teenage girls, he didn’t really feel any different to the 16 year old version of himself that he remembered so fondly.

I’m sure this is why certain experiences of parenthood end up feeling so, well… odd, I guess. Because really I am totally unqualified for the job at hand.

Take Wednesday evening. I dragged my already-exhausted-self up to Izzy’s school, helped myself to a mug of tea courtesy of the P.T.A and sat down for what turned out to be, hands down, the most surreal experience of parenthood so far.

The topic of discussion was sex.

Sex education to be precise.

The sex education of my darling 6 year old daughter to be even more precise.

The school had invited parents along to talk through the handling of this emotive issue and mums and dads were out in force to make sure the headmistress knew exactly what their opinions were on the matter.

The evening began with a casual wander round the school hall examining the *ahem* ‘materials’ provided for such classes. I manged to stifle a giggle while reading a list of bodily changes experienced during puberty. What can I say? I’ve always found the thought of wet dreams somewhat amusing.

Further hilarity ensued during the first 5 minutes of discussion. The headmistress addressed the room and asked what people’s main concerns were. Clearly, classes the previous year had caused some controversy and a number of parents expressed their doubts about the need to enlighten our children quite so unequivocally at such a young age.

One mother raised her hand and, in a pained voice, asked why her 8 year old daughter needed to know the C-word.

As I sat there, quietly listening to the mother, I was filled with horror. ‘They teach children THE C-word,’ I thought. ‘My, sex education has changed since my day’.

It was only when the mother finally mumbled the word clitoris under her breath that I realised what she was actually talking about.

Indignation washed over me. Why on earth shouldn’t an 8 year old girl know she has a clitoris? I suppose we shouldn’t mention that delicate issue of testicles to the little boys either?

Thankfully, the headmistress had some sense, quickly pointing out that parents should be wary of attaching their own adult connotations to such discussions. After all, they’re teaching anatomy, not the ‘Joy of Sex’.

Later on in the meeting, 2 fathers almost came to blows over masturbation.

Not literally. Of course.

One father was arguing for the need to offer some classes in single-sex groups because, you know, ‘the boys need to be spoken to about masturbation’. The other father (whose body language and trendy pink shirt had liberal-minded written all over them) quickly interjected. ‘Girls masturbate too, you know’. According to the first parent, girls don’t generally feel the need to explore their own genitals until they’re at least over 25. On the other hand (no pun intended), I should fully expect Jesse to start pleasuring himself within, oh…. the next couple of weeks.

It was at this point that I realised that no matter how overwhelmed I was by the present situation, how unbelievably childlike I felt as I sat their listening to teachers talking about condoms, or how easily I had been transported back to a high school biology lesson where all the boys laughed when the teacher said the word ‘menstruation’, I am totally prepared for coping with this aspect of my children’s lives, and in a far more open-minded and healthy way than many of the other ‘adults’ in the room.

Sure, the thought of my babies growing-up is a million times scarier than the prospect of actually having to grow-up myself.

And I’ll probably have to stop Carl from buying Izzy that chastity belt he found on Ebay.

And I might have to find somewhere quiet to have a cry if I ever find porn hidden under Jesse’s bed.

But, as long as I’m not scared to answer whatever, and I mean whatever, questions my children have, as long as I’m honest with myself about what sex will, and should, be in their lives, then everything will be alright.

Won’t it?

Loveaudrey xxx

P.S Apologies to all those random ( probably filthy) googlers who will happen upon this blog post because I used the words ‘clitoris’ and ‘masturbation’. Keep moving people, nothing to see here…