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I’m going to try not to do that anymore.” “Where do kids buy Juul pods? How old were you when you first drank alcohol? Have you ever tried marijuana? Should I be worried about my friend if she tried to cut herself? Do you think I’m underweight? You were in high school when you got your first period, right?” And on the heels of our wholly unexpected rapid-fire discussion, my daughter said something that shocked me: “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Before long, all kinds of questions were tumbling out of her almost faster than I could answer.
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So I proceeded to address her questions in precisely the same manner as I had with her sister - and the results were equally successful. “I’m not sure,” she mumbled, “but I want to know.” Instead, my response was free from any hint of culpability and instead put my daughter on the proverbial stand: “What were you doing in my bathroom without permission?” I asked her, pointing to the fact that she has her own. Sure, my heart skipped a beat (Really? I left it out again ? I thought), my cheeks did not give me away this time. What’s it for?”Īfter working to stifle my laughter, never ever having heard the term “model” used in this context, I quickly composed myself. Alice was less direct, but she cut straight to the chase nonetheless: “I found a model in your bathroom,” she said. Growing up, I navigated the unknowns of my world the old-school way: via trial and error.)Ī few months later, when my 12-year-old stumbled upon the same discovery as her sister had, I was ready. (I vaguely recall her purchasing me some books - Where Did I Come From? and What’s Happening to Me?, a pair of slender black-and-white volumes to help steer me and my older sister through our awkward questions about conception and puberty, but that was it. She simply wanted info - the same kind of useful info my own mother had declined to arm me with as an adolescent. End of story.īecause she didn’t really want to chat with her mom about the intricacies of self-pleasure and a healthy sex life. Because as soon as she’d gotten a reasonably useful answer about sex-toy shopping, she had retreated to read the latest issue of Nat Geo Traveller. I never even got to tell the superbly naive young girl before me - who, the last time we talked about sex, had surmised that I’d done the deed exactly three times (hence my three children) - that sex is a normal, natural part of any healthy adult life and/or relationship. And that was it: I never got to finish the long sex-positive explanation I had been forming in my head.