Let Me Tell You 'Bout the Birds and the Bees...

     After my daughter grilled me at bath time for several days with specific anatomical questions about how babies are born, I finally told her just how that happens. My vague answer that "the doctor" helps the Mommy get the baby out that placated her at age three would no longer suffice. At the ripe old age of four, she wanted to know EXACTLY how the doctor helped Mommies get their babies out and from EXACTLY where. According to the parenting books I had read, this conversation wasn't supposed to take place until she was much closer to puberty.  I shouldn't have been surprised that she was ready to discuss this topic before she even started preschool. Our little girl frequently asked questions that other children her age did not such as "Which species of birds migrate and how do they know when to depart?" (age three) and "When the earth rotates on it's axis why don't we fall off?" (age four). She had always been fascinated by the workings of the human body as well.  Several months before this conversation, she had checked out a junior high level textbook from the library titled "The Excretory System".  Instead of Disney Princess or My Little Pony, we talked about kidneys at bedtime.
     A few days after we had this conversation,  my husband was reading to her from her children's Bible as part of the bedtime routine.  This particular evening's story was of Jesus's birth, one of her favorites.  Before he began reading, she said " Daddy, I know how Jesus was born."  I'm certain that my husband was expecting her to tell him that it was in a manger or on Christmas Eve. Instead, she simply stated "He came out of Mary's (insert cutesy name for female private part)." Joe replied "Who. Told. You. THAT?!" to which she said "Mommy."  Mistaking his shock and embarrassment for confusion, she gently patted his arm and said "Don't worry, Daddy.  I'm sure if you ask, Mommy will explain it all to you too."
     A couple of years later, after a few days of public school and half a dozen bus rides, she wanted to know how Mommies became pregnant. She also wanted to know why God would decide to give a fourteen year old a baby. I explained to her that God created a way for a married man and woman to show love to one another that sometimes results in a baby.  I told her that when this occurs outside of marriage, a woman can also become pregnant. She asked me if Daddy knew about this, and when I assured her that he did she was not convinced.  Although she wanted more details, I told her this was all the information she was getting.  I then reminded her, as I typically do when we have these sorts of talks, that this information was not to be shared with her friends because their parents may not appreciate it.  My daughter then rolled her eyes and said "They still think that their baby brothers and sisters came out of their Mommies' belly buttons.  They must be getting their information from their dads."

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

    
     Those that know me well, or even a little bit, are aware of my practical nature, level head, and ability to separate facts from feelings and make decisions accordingly.   It is this very side of me that knows I am one more plastic tub of baby clothes or box of finger paintings away from qualifying to appear on an episode of Hoarders.  Every time my husband descends from the attic, his left eye is twitching. Just today my mother feared she'd lose my rogue toddler among the crates and boxes in the basement.
     When it comes to my children's belongings and creations, my common sense characteristics disappear faster than puzzle pieces. I cannot choose between the cuddly blankets I wrapped them in as infants, so I saved them all.  My heart aches at the thought of one their drawings of our family (with big heads, stick appendages, and missing bodies) at the bottom of the trash can.  I cannot bear to part with any of the frilly dresses that my daughter twirled in on each of her birthdays or the Toy Story tee-shirt that my middle child wore nearly every single day for an entire summer. And my plan to go through every scrap of paper my daughter brought home from Kindergarten at the end of the year and only keep what was most meaningful?  I have to confess that we are now more than half way through first grade and that has yet to happen.
     So when one afternoon almost a year ago I saw my daughter running up the driveway after school carrying a beautifully painted rainbow with multi-colored streamers fluttering behind her, I knew this was something I would never be able to part with.  It was a cheerful reminder of spring after a seemingly never-ending winter as well as of the innocence of childhood.  It added a splash of color to the muted tones of our dining room as it hung from the chandelier and a surge of joy to my heart every time I looked at it.  It caused me to reminisce about the lullaby I sang to my little girl as I rocked to her to sleep as a baby, or as I stroked her hair snuggled in bed next to her as she got older on the nights she had trouble falling asleep....the same lullaby my mom sang to me...Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
     After months hanging in the place of honor, I decided it was time to take it down and pack it away for safe keeping in her memory box, where I put the most cherished items that will stay with me even after time and space (or my hubby/mother's joined forces)  cause me to pare down my stash. As I was humming the strains to that precious tune while dozens of memories flooded through my mind, my daughter enters the room.  I told her how much this rainbow meant to me, and how I planned to keep it forever.  And then she said with a shrug "I don't know why.  I was absent on the day the class made those and the teacher gave me that one.  It was an extra."