I'm all about telling kids the truth, even when it comes to uncomfortable questions, such as those about babies and where they come from. You have to tell kids the real deal right from the get-go: babies come from magic baby seeds that you swallow, and then when they're fully formed, they fly out of your belly-button.

Okay, so I'm a prude. I'm totally into teaching kids euphemisms for sexual anatomy, and I shun truth and reality as much as possible when it comes to exactly how that anatomy functions in reproduction. I understand the impetus behind those who believe in honest answers for curious kids, but I just can't bring myself to be honest with my own child.

I always planned to be the sort of hip mom who could talk about babies and sex and periods and whatnot in a cool and effortless way with my daughter. Back when I was teen I pictured my future self as an Ideal Mom: I'd be lounging on the floor of my daughter's bedroom having frank discussions about the mysterious world of men and women. As Ideal Mom, I'd know exactly how to make my daughter feel comfortable discussing anything with me, while also maintaining a line between her privacy and mine. As Ideal Mom I would ever squirm at any question or be stumped for an answer. I'd be so easy to talk to and such a good listener. I'd also be totally cool with my daughter wearing ripped miniskirts and white lipstick (yes, this daydream occurred in the eighties).

I planned to be unfazed by sex when it came time for me to discuss it with my kids. But here I am already squeamish about the birds and bees and my kid is only in preschool! I guess I just wasn't prepared for her recent round of questions about babies and how they are made and delivered. I thought I had more time to figure out the right answers, but apparently kids want the info pretty early these days. And so, whether it's because I was ill-prepared, especially prim, or both, I recently spun Crabtot a yarn about magic baby seeds. I second-guessed myself even as I spun my story, wondering whether it might not be better to simply deliver the truth when a kid is too young to freak out over it.

Shortly after that conversation, Crabtot's idiot mother watches a Netflix of Juno while Crabtot's in the room, and I find myself fumbling for words yet again, only, this time I decide to be more honest. "How old is that girl?" Crabtot quizzes me, during a scene where preggers Juno goes to visit the future adoptive parents of her baby. "Is she a grownup?"
Where before I might have answered "Why, yes! Absolutely!" about knocked-up teen Juno, I decide to try out truth instead. "Not quite," I say. "But she's almost a grownup."
"She's got a baby in her tummy," Crabtot observes. "But she's a kid!"
"No, she's not a kid, she's a bit older."
"I thought only grownups could eat baby seeds!"
"Sometimes younger people eat them too." 

Gulp. To cut a long story short, I've now got a preschooler who tells me that when she grows up she wants to be "a pregnant teenager"! Way to go, Crabmom!

What about you? Have you attempted to discuss the facts of life to your little ones? If so, did you opt for truth or fiction?