Heaven, Help Me!

I was bombed yesterday. Not bombed as in "drunk", not bombed as in "actually had an explosive device dropped on me".... Bombed, as in "Mom we're talking about sex in health class for the rest of the year and so each night for my homework I have to ask you questions."

Oh, dear Lord, help me.

Now, I've talked in quite graphic detail with my son about sex. I've talked about how it's best to wait until you are old enough to handle it mentally, emotionally and physically. How God wants us to wait until we've found the person we're going to spend the rest of our lives with and actually are married to before we take that particular step. How oral sex is definitely still sex and it shouldn't be done, either. How diseases can be spread no matter which orifice is used, so it's much better to wait until you've both decided you love each other, are getting married, and have had all kinds of tests to make sure neither one of you is going to give each other a not-so-pleasant surprise. I even described in graphic detail the things that can happen to one's body parts as a result of some of those nasty diseases.

But I'm not sure how I feel about my baby boy asking me personal questions about sex. I mean, it's one thing for me to tell my son about sex, oral sex and such. It's quite another for him to ask me personal questions. And then, for him to say, "Yeah, the questions at first aren't so bad. But then I looked ahead in the book and.... oh, man! You aren't going to like the questions we have to ask!"

Lovely.

Lord, help me get through these next few months. Help us all. And help it do some good and keep our babies from trying to make babies of their own.