Santa, Sex and Unicorns.

Well shit.  The day has come. 

In the last few months Kiddo #1 has been asking a few questions, here and there. 

"Hey, Mom, I want another sibling."  "Mom, so-and-so said babies come from Jesus. Is that true?" 

Then, one night a few weeks ago, Husband was taking Kiddo #1 to swim practice.  It was dark, the snow was flying, and misting, and it was kinda just a gross, yucky, night.  Practice was practice.  Nothing out-of-the-ordinary occurred...  Husband could have never predicted that his life would change forever more on this freezing cold, winter's eve...

Maybe it was Full House marathon, or the Katy Perry videos, or the Bill Nye the Science guy video on how mammals have babies... it could've been anything.  But suddenly, unprovoked, Kiddo #1 opened her mouth and, "Daddy, how to babies get INTO the mommy's tummy? Like, how did they do it?" fell out. 

Husband panicked, swerved to the shoulder of the road and swerved back.  He pulled over violently.

Kiddo#1: Daddy!  What's wrong!?
Husband:  Uh.  I uh, I think I hit a cat.
Kiddo #1: DADDY NO! (hysterical sobbing)

Husband then left the car, went behind it, pretended to scoop up a deceased kitty, cross a snow-and slush-filled ditch in his leather work shoes and brand new dress pants.  With his coat around a blob of snow that was supposed to be a dead kitty, Husband dug a hole to bury the cat snow and performed a moving funeral.  I understand the owner of the farm even came out to help him; seeing a man in obvious distress trying to dig a hole in your field might make anyone curious.  But the farmer arrived, spoke to Husband.  The farmer heard the moving tale of distraction, showed Husband a picture of his kids (now grown with kids of their own) and even sang "Amazing Grace" softly over the howl of the winter wind.

When the duo arrived home, Kiddo #1 was exhausted.  Husband was shakey and he did that thing where he says "We need to talk.  Now."  in a way that makes me nervous.  I mean, I had put new boots on the credit card, and maybe a couple of new shirts... Frickfrickfrick.

He took my elbow and guided me into the bedroom.  He locked the door behind us, then made me go into the bathroom.  He turned on the shower and shut the bathroom door. 

Me:  What the frick?  If this is about the boo--
Husband:  Tonight Kiddo #1 asked me how babies are born.
Me: Oh.
Husband: NO! You don't understand.  She asked me HOW babies are BORN and I had to distract her.
Me: Why?
Husband: Because!  We haven't discussed how we're gonna handle this yet! She's EIGHT!
Me:  Handle what?
Husband: SEX!
Me:  Are you whisper-shouting at me?
Husband: OF COURSE I AM!  Do you want the children to hear?
Me:  Uh. I think I don't understand why this is a big deal?
Husband:  Do we even have those "Where do I come from" books?
Me: The ones with the fat mom and dad who get into a tub and overflow the tub?
Husband: Uh?
Me:  Plus, they don't really talk about how sex happens.
Husband: UHHH!
Me: And they don't discuss LGBTQ love and sex, either.
Husband:  But do we have a SCRIPT?
Me:  Is this a play?  Do we need puppets? That could get weird.  Unless... do you still have the Pinocchio puppet?
Husband:  Joke all you want.  If you're so blasé then you can handle it.

And so, after doing some research on ye olde interwebs, I found some really (actually) great books on not only sex education, but puberty!  The illustrations are appropriate, and comic-style, and there's a funny little Bert and Ernie duo that is a bird and a bee.  One is super nervous about it and one is chill, and it's very kid-friendly.

I left the books out, just kinda around, for Kiddo #1 to notice, and she did.  We read a chapter or two at bedtime.  It is ok.  I read the text, and she looks at the pictures.  It was just like reading Harry Potter, if Harry was spelled Hairy, and Potter was a synonym for Penis/Vagina. 

Ok, it was nothing like Harry Potter.  But whatever.  It was just another thing you do.

Of course, when she came around the corner and said, "Mom, I know you are Santa because..." and had a list as long as the alphabet as to why I'm Santa, I stopped hard.  Of course, I was in the kitchen, so I couldn't just pretend I'd run over a damn cat, either.  Some guys have all the luck.

I immediately smashed about 15 Oreo cookies in my mouth to buy some time and think about what I needed to say.  Then I took a deep breath, inhaled a bunch of cookie dust, choked for a few minutes, while Kiddo #1 tried to give me the Heimlich.  Had I been smart, I would've used that as the needed distraction, however, I can't be derailed THAT easily! Take that attention-span-of-a-squirrel!

Me:  Well, ok. 
Kiddo #1:  Why do people do that?
Me:  Do what? Try and distract you when you ask tough questions out of the blue?
Kiddo #1:  No! Obviously I mean why does everyone pretend Santa is real when he's not?
Me:  Well, he was real, like Jesus was a real person.  Santa was a guy (I won't bother telling you what I said verbatim because a) if you want to know about St. Nicholas, you can google it, b) I was kinda talking out of my ass because I hadn't brushed up on my St. Nicholas back story in a while and c) I was also delirious from the sugar content of 15 Oreo cookies racing through my bloodstream like thieves in a diamond heist.)And he did those nice things, so we want to keep that spirit of niceness alive. 
Kiddo #1:  Oh, like Jesus?
Me:  Sure. Yes. Ok. 
Kiddo #1:  Then why do grown-ups lie about it?
Me:  Oh, it's not lying, really. Ok it's lying a bit. But it's also about beliefs.  Like, what does your mom believe in?
Kiddo #1:  Unicorns and rainbows.
Me:  Well, have you ever seen a unicorn?
Kiddo#1: No.  Obviously.
Me:  Well, but there are pictures of unicorns and costumes of unicorns and unicorns are supposed to do wonderful things.  It's kinda the same.  But if you don't believe in Unicorns, you don't run around punching me in the neck yelling "Unicorns aren't real!"
Kiddo #1:  That'd be awful to run up and punch someone in the neck and say "Santa isn't real!"
Me:  Exactly.  People believe things that are important to them, and it's not up to us to decide what is "true" or not.  Beliefs are different from facts. 
Kiddo #1:  Oh. Ok.

A few minutes later she did the same damn thing about the Elf on the Shelf.  I just looked at her, and through another mouthful of Oreos said, "Honey, life is as real as you want it to be.  You decide how happy you are, you decide who is important to you, and you decide the person you want to be.  No one can do any of that for you. And no one can change who YOU are, either."

Kiddo #1 smiled the smile of a kid.  No, she smiled the smile of a tween. 
It nearly broke my heart; it was so full and so empty at the same damn time.

In the meantime, I need to find a taxidermist.  I don't think I can do this again (with Kiddo #2) so instead, I'm gonna hide dead animals all around the house that I can distract him with when he busts out these stupid questions.