My fifth-grader got “The Talk” in school last month, on the last day before Christmas break. I’m pretty sure they schedule it that way so any questions that come up over the following days get asked at home, not in class. I’m all for sex education in school. Knowledge is power and all that. Plus, from what I’ve observed in my control group (my Facebook friends), today’s moms can barely stand the thought that their kids are getting taller, let alone that they are growing hair in new places.
I’m pretty sure, though, that my boy needs some additional (remedial?) instruction.
Today we had Millie, our 8-month-old puppy, spayed. The kids were home because of a snow day, so after breakfast we played a game of Trouble. (I totally dominated.) Sometime during the game, one of the kids asked where Millie was, so I told them I had dropped her at the vet earlier to be spayed. Richie asked what that meant, so I told him she was having surgery to make sure she never had puppies, and that the surgery would also greatly reduce her risk of getting some types of cancer. He seemed ok with all of that. (He was not so ok with me winning at Trouble.)
He came with me to pick her up this afternoon. As we were opening the door to the animal hospital, he asked, “What will she look like now?” A bit taken aback, I told him that she would look exactly the same but she’ll have a little scar on her belly.
We got our discharge instructions from the receptionist. She told us that Millie would have a bandage on her front leg, where the IV was put in, and that we could remove that bandage as soon as we got home. Soon a vet tech arrived in the lobby with Millie, who was looking exhausted and still rather drugged-up. On her front leg was a neon pink bandage, which stood out brightly against her black fur. Richie pointed to the bandage and asked me, “Is that where they did her spay operation?”