Daughter is known for her precocious questions. They are insightful and charming. Unless you're the one answering them.
Take the day Sister's baby was born. Daughter, then 6, was suddenly plagued by a thought. "Guys," she says to me and Husband, "are the penis, hiney, and vagina used for anything besides going potties?"
"Yes, Mommy, are they?" Husband asks. The sex talk, and all related topics, are my responsibility. That's fair. I mean, he is teaching our children how to hunt.
I explain that babies usually come out of the vagina.
"OK!" she pipes, and runs off to play. Bullet, dodged.
At nine, the questions keep coming. Last week she wanted to know the status of gay marriage legalization in the United States. (I respect however you may feel about it. In our house, I teach that national legalization of gay marriage is long overdue and that we love who we love).
Once I do my best to explain, Daughter declares she's going to marry her best (female) friend. I don't think marriages of minors is legal anywhere in the US, gay or straight. But I keep quiet. It's hardly her point. Here's where the wheels come off the cart.
"Wait," she says, growing pensive. "When a girl marries a girl, and they want a baby, is it the sperm and egg and the special hug? Because I want to do the sperm and egg thing."
I remind myself to only answer what she's asking. I consider asking her what she thinks the answer is. That's usually a good deflection. I go with the best option.
"What questions do you have about hunting?"
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