Poorly Handled Conversations With My Daughter

1.

"Mommy, do I look sexy?" She assumes a hip-thrust, arms akimbo pose.

"What?"

"Am I sexy?"

"Do you know what sexy means?"

"I don't know. Like, pretty?"

"Sort of. Do you know what sex is?"

"No."

Awkward silence.

"Then don't worry about it. You're eight. Eight-year-old girls should not look sexy."

She makes a huffing noise and walks away.

2.

"I saw a word on the bathroom wall at school."

"What was it?"

She hesitates. "I don't want to tell you."

"You tell me all the other words you see."

"It was F-A-" She starts to say "G."

"Okay! I get it!"

"Is that a swear word?"

"That's worse than a swear word. 'Bitch' is a swear word. That's a hate word."

"Hate is an ugly word." (She parrots me.)

"Yes, and hate words are worse than ugly words or swear words. If I ever hear you use that word—"

"I won't! Jeez, Mom. I was just telling you I saw it."

She walks off and I call after her, "Thanks for telling me, honey!"

3.

"What's wrong, Mommy?"

"Nothing. I just have cramps." (I'm lying in bed, moaning.)

"What are cramps?"

"I get cramps when I have my period."

"What's a period?"

"Once a month, women bleed for a few days."

"From where?"

"From our privates." She looks horrified.

"I don't ever want to get a period."

"Someday you'll want to. Trust me."

"But I won't be able to go swimming!"

"Of course you will. You can use a tampon."

"What's a tampon?"

"It's like a... oh god, can we talk about this later? Like in a few years?"

"I am never going to get a period."

She runs from the room.