Sowing the seed

Sowing the seedE and I are talking, and I mention about being pregnant with B. This has been referred to many times, not to mention the nine months that E witnessed the prodigious swelling of my tummy (well, let’s not lie: the only parts of me that didn’t swell were my eyeballs and my ear lobes) and not once did it provoke a question. Which as far as I am concerned, is a Good Thing. I know that I will, at some point, be having The Talk with my offspring about sex. I have no qualms about this; I have a flip chart, a laser pointer, I am not scared of whipping up a diagram replete with arrows – I am prepared. But not at the age of four. And I thought I had got away with it, until at this mention of being pregnant, E asks: “How did the baby get into your tummy?”

I swallow. Which is not the way he got in there, for anyone out there as blissfully ignorant as my son. “Erm… well. Daddy put him in there.” Is that the creak of Pandora’s box being opened wide?

E looks at me. I look at E.

“How does it grow?” Okay, of all the questions that could have come next, this, I feel, is not the worst.

“From a seed.” Brevity is the key here, I think to myself and am actually quite chuffed that  the whole seed thing is true in some sense and slightly plausible, and honest without scaring him shitless that his willy will spurt babies as soon as his pants are off if he’s not careful.

And that is it. No more questions. I practically do a little dance. That is most definitely a great escape.

Three days later we are in the kitchen.

“Mummy, how does daddy put the seed in your tummy?” Oh fuckity-fuck. My mind races through all the possible answers that I could give him at this point. An anatomically correct one? ‘Well, daddy puts his penis in… oh no. Absolutely not. A euphemistic one? Well, daddy parks his car in mummy’s… forget it, he’ll never sit in M’s car again. A liar-liar-pants-on-fire one? Well, I bought it from the seed shop…no. That just won’t do. Then it strikes me: the perfect reply. A masterstroke of a retort:

“Do you want some chocolate buttons?”

Get the book: Womb with a View at or the Kindle version from  for papryophobics (that’s people with a phobia to paper, don’t ya know). Oh, and whilst you are doing all that mouse-clicky stuff, you might like to vote for this blog at the MAD parenting blog awards? Go to Tugs forelock, accidentally pokes herself in the eye, swears copiously and kicks the cat.

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