Saved by the (Taco) Bell, or Where Babies Come From...Kind Of

As you may be aware, I've been successfully avoiding having the talk with either of my children for years now. I almost had it a month or so ago, but the book I was going to use was checked out from the library. (Did I say "talk?" I meant to say "throw a book on her bed and pray for the best"). Look, I had hoped that the topic would come up in the natural course of conversation, and that I would be able to address it without any trace of awkwardness, as if it were no big deal. But that didn't ever happen. In reality, it turns out that I am really great at being vague, and at changing the topic of uncomfortable conversations, so that my Anarchist did not even know what a penis was until just last year (I'm actually not even sure that she does now, to be honest, but at least she is comfortable enough with the word to shriek it ad nauseum at Christmas brunch).

Precious baby. Loud, expensive, and
very beloved.

The problem is, if I don't get to it first, the school might, and heaven knows what they'll teach my darling offspring. They might tell her that if she ever has sex out of wedlock, she will give birth to a six-headed demon baby and burn in hellfire for all eternity, or they might take a page from my ninth grade health teacher's book, and tell her that literally everyone her age has already had sex, and that if she says she's never participated in a full-on orgy, she's a total liar. Either way, no thank you. I'd like her to view this beautiful and completely natural act for what it is: totally awkward, over-hyped, and potentially resulting in loud, expensive, and of course, very beloved children.

So now I've been pretty much looking for opportunities to discuss intercourse with my children. But suddenly, they've stopped presenting themselves. Suddenly, all my children want to do is discuss Minecraft YouTube videos and computer games with strange animals who collect rare objects and constantly report one another for "scamming." Not helpful.

So imagine my joy when, as I was walking my children to an all-organic, locally sourced cafe for a healthy, after school meal  we drove to Taco Bell's drive-thru for after school nachos, my children helpfully brought up the topic all on their very own.

Anarchist: "When do people start needing deodorant?"

Me (just feeling the perfect, totally-not-awkward sex talk moment coming on): "All different ages. It usually happens some time between now and when you are a teenager. Your body starts to change because it's getting ready to grow up and do things that grown up bodies do. The change is called puberty, and it's totally natural. It happens to everyone...blah, blah, blah, etc."

Anarchist (playing right into my hands): "What other changes happen to your body?"

Me: "Well usually, you need deodorant, and you'll need to shower more because your skin produces more oil. Later on, you'll start your period." (There! I said it. Out loud. Ha!)

Dictator (even though we've totally talked about this before): "What's a period?"

Me: [explains menarche in the perfect, natural, non-awkward way, doesn't use the word "menarche," because seriously, who talks like that?]

Dictator: "Oh yeah."

Anarchist: "Why does your body do that?"

Me (deep breath, this is happening): "Because some day you might want to have a baby. This is your body's way of getting itself ready to do that."

The amazing Dictator. Because sometimes
the "medicine" doesn't work. And sometimes
we're really glad it didn't.

Anarchist: "Oh. I don't think I want to have a baby. I think Boyfriend and I will adopt. I don't want my body to make the baby. How do I stop it from doing that? Is there medicine?"

Me (feeling rushed): "Umm...actually there is. It's called 'birth control.' It can keep your body from having a baby if you're not ready."

Anarchist: "So if I take this medicine, it will work for sure, right? Because I really think I don't want to have a baby grow inside my body."

Me (totally sidetracked): "Well...I mean, it's supposed to work, but it doesn't quite always work. Sometimes people have babies even when they don't mean to, even when they're taking medicine. [Nods meaningfully at the Dictator, who we totally conceived while on "medicine." I promise she didn't notice the nod, as she was blissfully absorbed in drawing pictures of Minecraft YouTubers]. That's why it's important to make sure you're with someone you want to spend the rest of your life with when you decide to have a baby. It would be very nice if you were married. It's also ideal if you have somewhere to live, and enough money to take care of the baby. Otherwise it can be very, very difficult. So that's why you need to be wise about having a baby."

Anarchist: "Yeah. Well, if I ever have a baby, I'm never working again. So I'd want to wait until we had some money. Otherwise, Boyfriend would probably have to work day and night at three different jobs, and I would never see him. Poor Boyfriend! That's too much work for one person...but I'm not going to work. Not if I have a baby. That will be for poor Boyfriend to do. And I will have to feel so bad for him."

Me (dumbfounded by her unabashed laziness): "Oh."

Anarchist: "Okay. But I have one important question, though. So...if sometimes the medicine doesn't work, can I wait until I'm ready to have a baby? Maybe I should just tell the doctor to stop putting that baby inside of me...when the doctor starts doing that...when it's time."

Me: "Sweetie, the doctor doesn't put the baby inside of you."

Anarchist: "Okay. Then I have another important question."

[Deep breath. Here goes...]

Me: "Yes, Anarchist?"

Anarchist: "If the doctor doesn't put the baby inside your body, then how does it get there?"

Me (ready to launch into "the talk" for real this time...I might even go all out and say "scrotum..." out loud): "Well, when you're ready to have a baby...

Nice Taco Bell Drive Thru Girl: "Welcome to Taco Bell. You can go ahead with your order."

Me: "Oh! Hi. Umm..could I please have.a side of nachos, a side of rice, a soft taco supreme, a soft taco...no, that's two separate tacos, one regular and one supreme...right, right...and two nachos bell grande no meat, please. That will be all. Thanks so much."

Yeah. That's right. That's how my "talk" ended. Because I am a coward. And I have bad timing. And also because I have a strange attraction to bad, albeit convenient, queso.

In my defense, I tried to bring it up again. As we were driving away, arms-deep in crunchy chips and shredded iceberg, I turned to the Anarchist and said, "I'm so sorry we were interrupted by tacos, Anarchist. Wasn't there something you wanted to ask me?"

Anarchist: "No? Why would I ask you something? Can we please go home now so I can eat tacos and get scammed in computer games involving strange animals?" (that last sentence may be a paraphrase...)

Me: "Actually, I think you were asking a very important question about how babies were made, and I'd love to tell you all about it over our vegan, locally sourced meal. In fact, I never want you to feel uncomfortable discussing anything with me, especially something as natural as sexual intercourse. Also, I will happily define anatomical terms for you, including 'scrotum,' 'penis,' and 'labia,' and I will do this without flinching or giggling, or anything, because I am an adult and an ideal parent."

Actual Me: "Yes! Let's go eat tacos and remain ignorant forever!"

And so we did.

Listen. It'll be totally fine. At least I didn't tell them they would produce six-headed hell demons, or encourage them to have orgies. I mean, I'm sure they never really need to know where babies come from, right? After all, as the Anarchist is quick to point out, they can always adopt.