The other day Zoë and I were driving home from the library (where she got her own library card, oh my god she’ll be graduating from Harvard soon) and she asked me that dreaded question about the origin of teeny tiny babies. Here’s what I should have said:
Alas, I decided to tell her the (semi)truth. I didn’t tell her how they get in there. That’s a conversation for ZZ Top to have with her favorite auntie while I drink wine in another room. But it went a little something like this:
ZZ: Where does a baby grow?
Me: In its mommy’s belly.
ZZ: In your stomach??
Me: No, silly, in the uterus. (She’s 8. She knows that uteri exist but not what they’re for.)
I just said “uteri.”
When she asked me the next question, I knew she’d already heard the answer somewhere else but obviously wanted me to confirm the awful truth. Again, she’s 8. Time to take the horse by the balls and tell her the truth.
ZZ: Where do babies…come…out…of?
Me (dying inside): Well, honey, they come out of your hoohaw. (I’m awesome.)
ZZ: Hmm…maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.
And…scene. Happy Wednesday.