Beana’s Granny brought her a girl bunny (name to be determined) who shares a house with her cousin’s boy bunny. Can you see where this is heading? So she takes me outside to meet her bunny and we get to see porn produced by Animal Planet. Fortunately the show didn’t last long (which kind of made me feel bad for girl bunny), introductions were made and we were able to play.
Once back inside my mother-in-laws house, Beana pulled me off to the side. “Were the rabbits having…..you know…..s-e-x? Resisting the
urge to punch myself in the throat laugh, I told her the bunnies were having sex. After glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear she tells me “I thought the girl was always on top.” In one of my better “Mom” moments, I blink a couple of times, snort, & begin to giggle uncontrollably. I explained that when animals have sex the boy is on top. I could see other questions forming, but her dad came into the room and her mouth slammed shut like a bear trap. Bullet dodged!!
Apparently my reprieve was only temporary. The following week we were driving home and Beana asks me if the boy is always on top when people do it. With a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel I mentally scrolled through the answers coming to mind discarding the ones that would lead to even more embarrassingly heart stopping questions (real talk: I want to be able to answer all her sex questions in an open manner because I want her to always feel comfortable coming to me BUT knowing my luck I could just see this turning into a Kuma Satrua for Your 9 year old lesson) before finally settling on, “most of the time but not always would you like to go rent movies & get pizza for dinner?” Thankfully Netflix & Hulu haven’t completely demolished the existence of neighbor hood video stores and I was able to distract her with deciding what to get. As we walked into the video store, Beana asks, “Will boys like me more if my boobies are as big as yours?” Since I’m so totally on top of this mothering thing I honestly answered, “Ooooo look High School Musical III, Zac Efron, singing & dancing.” Her tween eyes glazed over, question forgotten. I realize that while I might have won this battle, the war will most definitely kick my ass well before it’s over.
Birds do it, bees do it and there was that unfortunately timed romp between 2 dogs at a friend’s house. Yes, it’s Springtime and a young man’s fancy turns to love. A little boy in Beana’s class has a crush on her. There have been phone calls, tokens of his affection, requests to be her boyfriend and even a kiss on the cheek. Anytime I’ve seen this little boy at their school, he’s always nice and polite and on the outside I’m cool as a cucumber; sharing Motherly advice like: “You’re too young to have a boyfriend.” or “You don’t only have to play with only Casanova, you can play with all your friends.”* However on the inside……….. I wish I could hide behind the slides on the playground until Cass shows up, and scare him enough that he’ll think twice about putting his lips on my kid’s face again but not enough that he’ll spend the rest of his days wearing a diaper. Thankfully (I think) increased school security prevents Beana from getting tagged with the moniker of “Girl whose mother is batshit crazy.” My mom finds this quite amusing; remembering when she was going through this with me. She laughs mightily when I tell her it’s not the same thing because it’s happening to me. TOOOOOOOOO. MEEEEEEEE. Okay yeah, so that’s a wee bit over dramatic, but that’s just how I roll.
My biggest struggle is how I make my “You don’t have to have a man to be happy” mantra age appropriate for a 9 year old. Let’s face it, I’m as anti-fairy tale as it gets. The bullshit idea of Prince Charming having to come and save the day, while the damsel in distress wanders around waiting oblivious to the danger, makes me stabby. Up until recently Beana’s always been an independent little sprite that would rather get dirty playing baseball, football or basketball; sitting daintily on the sidelines was not an option. Now that she’s been afflicted with the twitterpatted curse all she talks about is Casanova this, & Casanova said that. Daily, I fight the urge to place my hands on the side of my head, and pull out handfuls of hair while screaming expletives at the top of my lungs. I would be totally bald by now if my mom hadn’t step in with Solomon like wisdom and told me, “If Beana sees you freaking out now, she’ll never come to you when there’s really something to worry about. Just stay calm.” So I swallow all my parenting angst and hope she doesn’t realize the tick I’ve developed on the left side of my face is totally her fault.
* When I first typed this I had put fiends, which in the grand scheme of things is an accurate description when talking about gaggles of 8 and 9 year olds.