Children's educational sex books, as it turns out, are technically the opposite of child pornography: they are filled with pictures of grown ups doing unspeakable things with each other for children to see. Children, like my beautiful sweet daughter, a child whose favourite animal is a unicorn. I decided that what she needed to know was that simple, quick jigsaw puzzle connections were indeed what it took to make a baby and that focus would then be placed on eggs, 'spirits' and babies growing so that she would not only know the basic facts but she would also accept them as fact and move on. I buried myself in the few books I could find, trying to decide which book had the right amount of information without letting my daughter know that her parents were filthy, fornicating, sex maniacs whose lack of night clothing on various mornings was not in fact 'because it was hot' but because they'd been interlocking like rabbits for the sheer blinkin' joy of it. Not that we do that of course.
I don't know what it is about librarians that makes them lecherous, but being caught in the child porn section by a softly spoken man asking if I needed HELP as he looked over my shoulder was another part of the whole freaking situation I did not enjoy. 'No thank you" I said as I tried to cover the dirty pictures with, well essentially my breasts. I wanted him to fuck off really but instead he went on to tell me that there were just too many books in the section so they were going to send some of them to different libraries. It was at this point that I turned my back on him and grabbed all of the options available, lest I chose the wrong one and then lost the opportunity to come back for an alternative. This was how "being the perfect parent and providing some information" turned into "going way over the top and setting myself up for sharing way too much information". Said my husband "don't you think you've gone a little overboard?" That was after I'd explained my predicament to the teenager who came out of her bedroom with copies of more literature on the subject saved over from her own educational enlightenment. All in all I had five books on the subject. One would probably have been sufficient. The teen did say, however, that she thought finding out sooner rather than at 9 or 10 when she did was a much better, less shocking time for discovery. Certainly Miss 5 is not traumatised, I can't necessarily say the same for myself.
Thankfully, the Rabbit was thrilled to have some new books from the library. Books are one of her favourite things. I am very proud that her reading level is way, way beyond the 10 weeks she has spent at school. The reality that I couldn't pick or chose what I shared with her, however, flushed wildly all over my face. The level of intrigue was high. I did wonder if maybe I would rather walk naked through a crowd of strangers than show pictures of interlocking grown ups making babies to my new entrant aged daughter. We read "Who has What? All About Girls' Bodies and Boys' Bodies" by Robie H. Harris. We shrieked with laughter (did I say we, I meant she) at the existence of the scrotum, although we can't really deny it is a funny looking body part. We examined penises, on men, boys and dogs, and we cringed (well she laughed) at the existence of vaginas. The book skipped happily into resulting babies, not one penis entered a vagina and it concluded most nicely that everybody is different and there is only one 'me'. We moved on to a comical approach taken by Babette Cole in "Mummy Laid an Egg" which had two parents explain all the ways they wished children could believe babies were made before the children took over the explanation and explained, more specifically, the real sexual jigsaw and, I swear not, that child of mine could NOT get her eyes off the page which had pictures, albeit cartoon pictures, of no fewer than four couples engaging in acts of acrobatic fornication and I needed to wrestle the book off her to get to the end. It finished with two embarrassed parents (not to mention me) and a room filled with animals and the admission that all animals 'got it on'. Thankfully the pictures were not graphic.
I did not get to the book "It's NOT the Stork" also by Robie H Harris, which was the most detailed of the library books I found and really covers far more detail, although skips the graphic pictures in favour of an embracing, blanketed couple in bed. I left it available for my Rabbit to have a look at in her own time, if she so wanted and was really quite relieved and pleased that I had got through the topic without dying from embarrassment, nor being asked any uncomfortable questions. That was until one of the teenager's old books was brought to me for reading a few hours later, the age old "Where Did I Come From" written by Peter Mayle. It seemed quite innocent, I recalled the book from way back in my own childhood and having flicked through now three alternatives without once discussing pleasure, hornyness or filth, I remembered the approach I had intended to take with educating about baby making: making sure the information I was giving matched up with what I thought she needed to know. How I wished I'd read the book BEFORE I found myself reading the following words to my FAR TOO ATTENTIVE small child: the man's penis becomes stiff and hard and much bigger than it usually is...the best thing he can do is put his penis inside her, into her vagina...this is a very nice feeling." As my voice got higher and higher and my stomach climbed to my throat and my legs crossed and my face burned, the tiny child on my lap was engrossed. It went on to 'wriggling', to 'moving up and down', to 'tickling' and it seemed to go on for way, way longer than almost any of the sexual encounters I have EVER had. It discussed orgasms, and spurting sperms and lovely shivers and I swear and I have NEVER been so pleased to see my husband come home early so that we could put the book down and NEVER go near it again. I have hidden it and sworn off sex. I swear I am scared she'll look at me funny or ask specific questions or worse, ask her Daddy. Already she has shown me a wriggling finger and asked "what is this?". No I didn't guess. It was a sperm.
One good thing to emerge was that fact it is clear now why "no, Rabbit, you will not get 'your spirit' to make babies with from Daddy." I think also, for the most part life, has moved back to the way it was before my niece shared way more information than I ever anticipated. But it also clear that my little deep thinker has gone on to give the matter some further thought. Both Daddy and I froze, blushed and gulped on Sunday when a little voice from the booster seat called out "Daddy, so how many spirits have you used up?". "Just the one Darling, just the one" was the lie. "That's fantastic" replied the cherub, "that means that you've got a thousand left and you'll be able to give one to Mummy so that she can have another baby". "Um humph" said Daddy "look at the clouds."
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