The other day I was walking past Noah’s bedroom and I heard a grown man on the other side of the door. A bit shocked and curious, I opened the door.
“Who are you playing with??”
He gestured towards the monitor and was equally confused by my shock.
“It’s Joe, momma.” (Not his real name – “Joe” is a longtime friend of Noah’s who I hadn’t laid eyes on since the end of this past school year).
“Why does his voice sound like that?”
Noah shrugged. I shrugged. What had happened to Joe? Most of Noah’s closest buddies still have that crackly in-between voice that’s not quite boy and not quite man. Joe sounded like he drove a one-ton pickup and had killed his own breakfast that morning.
More than any kid I’ve ever met, Noah definitely has his finger on the pulse of puberty and body changes. A good friend of mine thinks he’s headed for the field of obstetrics and gynecology. She’s convinced he will be the most knowledgeable and compassionate male ob/gyn ever. Fortunately, at this age, he is still thinking about paleontology and geology, not vaginas. He is truly a cool kid when it comes to these conversations. I can talk to a lot of people about a lot of things, but when it comes to the topic of puberty or sex, I imagine I look like most of Noah’s peers when their mother brings up those things. My eyes get wide, I start stuttering and I freeze up. Reference my responses to the 69 questions:
“It’s a year. A Bryan Adams song. From the 1900s. Ying Yang symbol. Some weird math in a new song by Ariana Grande. No, I have no idea why your friends are talking about it.”
One day as we were driving back from school, Noah shared that he found his uncles disturbing.
“Momma, I know what happens when babies are made. I’m so disturbed that Uncle X, Y and Z have kids. Do you know how those kids happened?”
“Yes, I do. Isn’t that wonderful that your momma didn’t have to do that disturbing thing to have you?” I felt very undisturbing for the moment in his eyes. One benefit of the donor process. Noah wouldn’t have to associate that disturbing event with his existence.
“Yeah. Sheesh. Wow,” he says.
Not long after that conversation, one of his friend’s mothers asked me if Noah was bringing home any school work from their reproduction classes. She said she had been interrogating her own son and he refused to share anything with her. I asked Noah. He disappeared into this room then returned, displaying large color drawings of the male and female reproductive systems, with correctly labeled anatomy (the child can’t spell “didn’t” but he knocked “fallopian tubes” and “clitoris” right out of the park).
“Do you mean these momma?” He asked proudly.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Who knew my son would be a reproduction system nerd? “Yes. Those.”
Seriously, this has been great. Most of my work is done on the technical education piece. We watched puberty videos together. I preferred the ones made in India. Very modest and general, focused on hair growth and the Adam’s Apple. All of this is still very scientific to him, with no shame and embarrassment. I consider myself very fortunate because I ended up not being that cool mom who can talk about anything.
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