The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

awkward conversation with a wee person

The wee one sidles up to me while I'm reading one of my new favourite blogs.

Hi mom.

Hello, Kitty Kat. What's going on?

Oh, you know. Just, wandering around.

Well, why don't you come sit on my lap?

She wriggles her way onto my lap, smelling like spring dirt after a bout of rolling around on the playground. There's a layer of fine dust on her ivory skin, each tiny bit of earth on her cheeks and nose begging to be wiped away. I breathe her in, dirt and all. These days are precious, I know it.

What are you reading there?

How to describe a blog?, I wonder. I take the safer, less invasive route.

It's just the news, you know, boring stuff.

I feel so clever.

Well, come on then. Read it to me.

I check out the entry I've just started reading. Yup, there's a fair bit of filthy goodness in it, an entry written about hatemail in which the blogger has included one of the most ridiculously composed emails ever, laden with eff's and more eff's. Hilarious, but not exactly Dr. Seuss.

Oh, well, the weather is good today, and hey, looks like it's going to stay that way for a little while! Riveting stuff. That I am unemployed and largely unwanted makes good sense today.

Hmm..., she looks thoughtful for a moment. So mom, I was just, you know, wondering how you and daddy made me.

Oh, my eyes release the blog and I feel my body tense.

How did that happen, anyway? she asks, wide-eyed and delightfully serious.

We made you out of love, I respond lightly. Take the words 'you out of' and it's more accurate, but let's not haggle over semantics.

Yeah, I know that already, but how did I get in there? Dog with a meaty bone, I tell you.

Well, we loved one another so much that we wanted to take the best parts of ourselves and put them together to create what we consider to be the best kind of person.

Yeah, she sighs, getting frustrated with her mother who is clearly not very bright, but how did you actually make me?

Okay, I think to myself, maybe this is a good time to talk about penises and vaginas and conception and the slick art of withdrawal and how it is definitely not for novices, but I couldn't do it. This is a kid who fervently believes in unicorns. She thinks leprechauns live in the old dog house in the backyard. She can't decide which of the following she should be when she grows up: a princess, a ballerina, a cowgirl or a fairy. Why would I go into the reproductive system of her parents and spoil all the magic?

Well, I say slowly, We took some of my parts and mixed them with some of daddy's parts and planted them inside of me to grow.

She looks horrified.

Well, that must have hurt an awful lot!

Oddly enough, no.

Her mind races all over her tiny face.

So, you saw all your blood and bones and you mixed them together and it didn't actually hurt? Like, did you have to have an operation?

Nope, it was one of those situations in which nothing hurt and everything felt really good.

She ponders this for about ten seconds.

I'm sorry mom, but that just doesn't make any sense to me.

Oh, and unicorns and squatting leprechauns do?

I still think my version of the truth works, but I intend to prepare for the inevitability of revisiting the discussion once the initial disgust wears off.