I really want to thank the kids over at Smosh for giving us an entertaining drive home from the In-Laws yesterday.
Mr. G and I were in the front seat with the kids in the back just listening to the radio, sort of tired from the week, sort of lazy because it’s Sunday. As we were passing our old house over on Beverly Glen Alexander chimed in from the back seat, “Dad, what’s an orgasm?”
Mr. G and I both stopped breathing for a moment and he gallantly did not crash the car. Upon our exhale there were giggles and Jane laughed from the back seat the sort of laugh that moves your whole body. At the pace of heartbeats thoughts fly at me: I wonder how she knows what an orgasm is? I wonder if she does know what an orgasm is? I realize that I have to find answers to these questions. How do you talk to your daughter about orgasms? How do you ask her what she knows? Am I feminist enough to tell her that women have them or do I just have the boys and spunk conversation that’s so much easier because it’s visible and it’s where babies come from and we all know that sex is only for making babies. Right?
I start to talk, it’s only taken seconds for me to panic, unpanic and then realize that Alexander asked his DAD what an orgasm is so I don’t have to handle this one. I stay silent, stifle giggles and wait. Mr. G, always reasonable, asks Alexander why he’s asking about an orgasm and Alexander tells us that a Smosh video told him that boys could have 50 orgasms a day.
Mr. G assured Alexander that he’d talk to him about it later in the day but that orgasms were something private. I went to dinner with some friends last night so I can’t be sure they had “the talk”. This afternoon I’ll need to confirm that the menfolk have chatted. As for Jane? I’m still gathering my nerve, right now I’m going to teach her something that really matters… how to read a book in the swimming pool without getting sun on your face or wetting the pages. It’s tough this business of parenting.