So, I'm teaching my big girls all about the Facts of Life (you take the good, you take the bad... the facts of life, the facts of life... now why on earth would anyone call someone 'Mallory' - it just reminds me of marshmallows. I get the feeling that 'Mallory' should be soft and squidgey and so terribly sweet. And pink of course. I mean I like marshmallows and all - especially in rocky road, and even more especially in Darrell Lea Rocky Road which has the extra piquancy of coconut. Although I have recently indulged in 'luxury' rocky road which had Turkish Delight and pistachios instead of mallows and peanuts and glace cherries (which I utterly utterly detest) which one can aquire at the Berry Markets. One can also acquire, from the same providor, jars of marinated baby figs, which have become my New Favourite Thing, and are so so good with triple cream brie. Even better than quince paste. And that's saying something. Quince Paste was my Old Favourite Thing. I even bought a 2kg catering slab of Maggie Beers Quince Paste. It did last a while. But it's an essential ingredient in my Spiced Lamb Casserole. )

Anyway...

The Facts of Life.

We've already told the basic 'birds and the bees' thing. Mainly because I had to have an operation last year, involving 'women's bits'. I had tried to explain in the simplest terms, what was going to happen, and told them at one point about how women are born with all their eggs already in the ovaries. Children being children, Miss H took this newly-discovered bit of knowledge to school. And came home the next day to tell me that I was wrong, that Taylor's Mum is a nurse and said that women don't have eggs. Now I don't like being told I'm wrong at the best of times, especially not by a 7 year old. So we went and asked the great God Google, who told us that yes, Actonb was right. And since the 'puter told her, Miss H was quite happy to believe it.

So we thought we'd better explain the whole 'this is how babies are made' thing, and we sat them down together and told them how it all works. Both of us, MrB included - although he did try to say that, y'know, this was best for a mother to explain, and that if we'd had boys he'd be quite happy to do it... He didn't get away with it, obviously. We told them the little story about how a man and woman fall in love, then get married (well, we have to get the moralistic brain-washing in at an early age...), the basic mechanics of baby-making... they seemed to cope OK. They told us some bizarre versions that they'd been told at school, and we were kinda glad that we'd decided to tell them, despite initial qualms about it being too early.

But now I'm having to broach the 'changes' issue. And I'm not happy about it.

We've given Miss M a book - the old 'What's happening to me?' one, and I'd be quite happy to leave it at that. But now she's coming and asking me quite specific questions, and I just want to go hide under my duvet! I'm too young to be doing this! I don't want my babies growing up! And I feel like such a prude!

Help! Any suggestions?

Maybe you lurkers could take this opportunity to say g'day, seeing as that font of all blog-knowledge, Ms LaRue, has decreed that it's De-Lurking Week. Or just tell me how to deal with this...