Squirm

Continuing on with the elder son's burgeoning interest in sex, I'd like to relate a conversation we had the other day while I was making sandwiches (a special gift of mine--I'm a sandwich whisperer). Somehow the topic of sex came up. I think it was him asking if we could talk about sex that did it. 

He asked how many times his father and I had had the sex.  He then answered his own question and said,"Oh--two, never mind, I already know." I turned around to the stove and gave a little attention to the sandwich, giving myself time to decide if I should shatter his whole world or not. I went with yes. I told him that actually it was quite a few more times than that, because adults have sex sometimes just for fun and to show love, not only to make babies. He was all, "Oh." Then he asked why it was fun, like how could merging your genitals with someone else's possibly be anything but worse than the most horrifying horror. I fiddled with the sandwich some more. So then I told him that adults mostly think sex feels good, they get special feelings from it and that's what makes it fun for them. He couldn't just let it die, though. He asked what it feels like, exactly. I started thinking about how to answer that one, and decided that maybe question avoidance/distraction is as legitimate a parenting technique as total honesty. 

The sandwich was served. 

Coochie Coo

If there is one thing I do not like it is going to the box doctor. For a number of reasons, really, but one of the main ones is that it feels very weird to have your cooch exposed to cold air with your feet up like that. I mean, usually this is an area that is very protected from drafts. We do not often feel air turbulence in the undies. So having your legs apart and your feet up can be kind of disconcerting.

In addition to that, the extremely bright spotlight and the very close and personal examination of the lady parts just feels intrusive. Then it actually gets intrusive, with cold hilarious instruments that look like ducks. I sometimes feel like joking about that. But that would be frowned upon, because at the box doctor we try to ignore what is actually going on by conversing normally about non-vaginal subjects. That is what is accepted in society for adults and I'm all about social mores.

I had the opportunity to get in for an earlier appointment with another doctor, let's say Dr. McVulva. Then I found out that it was a man doctor. Hell to the no on that one, for absolutely no good reason. Philosophically, I am able to accept a man gynecologist. I support it--follow your passions, I always say (in my head, not in public or to anyone else; actually not even in my head that much because it's very successories).  But in practice I would rather bleed to death from a cooch fracture than have a man gynecologist. This is not rational, I recognize that.