Sometimes children ask awkward questions. As a parent I’m use to coming up with answers to these questions though I will admit that if the question is overly embarrassing or if the child asking the question isn’t old enough to handle the truth I’ll answer with the most technical language I can muster so as to baffle the poor child’s mind, or I make something up. Mostly I make something up…
Anyway, yesterday I heard a plaintive cry for help coming from my wife who was in the bedroom with our four year-old, Demon Spawn.
“What? What is it?” I asked as I walked in. The first thing I noticed as I looked around was the panic-stricken look on my poor wife’s face.
“He wants to know what a vagina looks like,” she nodded at Demon Spawn, who was sitting quietly awaiting the answer.
“Whoa! Why did you call for me?!?! You’re the one that has one!”
“Well I’m not going to show him mine!”
“I’m not saying that, it’s just you… You know. It’s your part. You’re more… I mean, you’ve got the…” I’ve never pointed at my wife’s crotch that much in a single sitting before and I probably never will again.
“I don’t sit around looking at it! And you’ve seen more of them than I have!”
“I don’t know what you think my sex life was…”
“No! I mean porn!”
“NOTHING!” my wife and I screamed at the same time.
We both looked over at Demon Spawn who was visibly swelling from the energy produced from the chaos he caused.
I took a deep breath, calmed my nerves and tried to answer, “Well buddy, a va… a vagina…” I could feel the collective disappointment of every feminist in the world as I said “vagina” as if it was the dirtiest of all dirty words. “It looks like…,” and again the disappointment as I realized any and every description of a vagina that came to mind was from filthy jokes I’ve heard while fishing/hunting/working construction/ect.. “Sweetie?”
Nothing but a wide-eyed shake of the head from that direction.
“Well, uh… Did Momma tell you we’re going bowling tomorrow after I cut the grass? And to the park!”
“We’re going bowling?!?!?”
“Yay!” and he ran out the room.
“So,” my wife looked at me. “We’re going bowling tomorrow?”
“Yep, that’s what it looks like.”