No Sex, Please. We're Parents! - The M Word

No Sex, Please. We’re Parents!

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That, my friends, is not happening. Not on my watch.

But here’s the thing. Not only am I obliged to introduce them to the wonders of human reproduction, I also need to ensure they have enough know-how to never ever ever take part in a Rainbow Party. You know, a Rainbow Party? You don’t? Google it. Despite being a so-called urban myth, I have reliable information of their existence. And no, not even I can bring myself to explain the details of what happens at these colourful gatherings. Except to say Eeewww!!

So why is it that in spite of knowing all the ins-and-outs of baby making, and being very aware that it’s my parental duty to pass on said knowledge, the problem remains that I simply don’t want to do it? No, not it. I’m very happy to do that. I mean it – the whole talk thing. Have all those formative years in convent school finally taken their toll? Has my vow to be the most modern and coolest of parents who freely discusses all things sexual as if she was simply discussing the weather come to nothing?

Or it just a fear of change? Because the Sex Talk changes everything and I’m not sure I’m ready. Having just spent most of their childhood years ensuring they didn’t grow up too quickly, protecting their innocence, safeguarding their beliefs in all things supernatural like chocolate-delivering rabbits and that jolly old man with the red suit, I’m not sure I want to be the one to shatter all their illusions. Call me old-fashioned but I want them to carry on looking on me and their Dad as a sweet princess and her handsome knight in shining armour. Instead of looking at us and thinking, well … Eeewww!

And sure, maybe the princess analogy is a little far-fetched but the last time I didn’t tell them the whole truth, it didn’t work out that well for me. I just don’t know if could survive re-experiencing the same disappointing eyes that greeted me when I finally admitted that I wasn’t actually 14 and that I was much closer to 40. It’s nearly three years later and they’re still showing no signs of forgiveness.

These kids are harsh.

However, what needs to be said needs to be said. Regardless of my excuses and objections and unwillingness. I am the adult in this relationship and I guess I’m just going to have to suck it up and spit it out. So to speak. No matter the inevitable slightly extremely awkward, follow-up questions. Or the lecture I will no doubt receive as the realisation dawns on them that I may have told them a few porky pies about some of their other beliefs. I will put on my parental sex education hat and deliver the information in a mature and definitely non-giggling manner. I may even use diagrams and possibly a chart or two but the upshot is that this talk will happen!

And yes, I know they’re going to ask me whether we still engage in such behaviour, and of course, I will be honest in my response. But I will also be armed with the world’s strongest earplugs for, what no doubt will be, the world’s loudest EEEWWW!

Reproduced with permission from orlabreeze.com

Orla Breeze
Orla Breeze
Orla Breeze is a parenting writer who often wonders why women can be called Mum, Mam or Mom but men just get called Dad. (Why not Dud or Dod?) She is the writer of magazine column Rated PG! and author of Dad-to-Be book Daddy 101. Oh and she has 3 kids. Mustn’t forget about those pesky kids! Find out more about her at www.orlabreeze.com