You’re not going to believe this, but last night we had THE DEATH CONVERSATION.
I know. He’s only 5. And it was really, really, really traumatizing…for me.
But it’s my fault to begin with. I came up with a “plan” at bedtime to tell Connor that if he wants a bedtime story, first he needs to read 5 words. Hey, don’t judge. I’m trying everything I can here to get him to read.
So he does it, mostly willingly. And I decide to ask him, “Why don’t you want to learn to read?”
He says, “because I just want you and daddy to read to me forever.” Yeah, I know. That’s sweet, right? But this big plan of his is standing in his way of learning.
So I say, “well you know, we won’t be here forever. That’s why you need to learn to read and write yourself.” As soon as the words left my mouth I thought, “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!! What the FUCK did I just do?”
“Why won’t you be here forever?”
“Well, because you will grow up and have your own house someday.” Okay, that’s a good start, right?
“And someday mommy and daddy will be gone.” Wait, why did I fucking say that? I mean, what was I thinking? Why didn’t I just leave well enough alone?
“Why won’t you be here, where will you be?”
“Well honey, you know someday everybody dies. We all grow up and grow old, and sooner or later it’s our time to die. It’s the circle of life.” Yes, I went straight for the Lion King, you bet your butt I did. And I was prepared to sing Circle of Life, if need be.
“But I don’t want you to die. Am I going to die?” FUCK!
“Someday everyone dies, honey. Usually it’s when they are very old, so please don’t worry about it. I’m just telling you that you need to learn to read and write, so you can grow up and read to yourself, and your kids if you have any.”
“Okay. Do kids die?” Are you fucking kidding me?? I am trying my damnedest not to traumatize this child, and it’s like he’s trying to make me do it!
And hubby finally, finally came through on one of those icky conversations that I always get stuck having. He said, “yes, sometimes they do, but not usually. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
And Connor said, “oh, okay. Can we read now?”
But I’m hoping that this new nugget of information isn’t just sitting in his head, festering, and waiting to manifest as some new anxiety issue. It sure has given me anxiety. More wine, please!
And can you believe, after all the bullets I’ve taken for hubby with the penis/vagina/toilet/poop/testicle conversations, that he got off that easily? From now on, I think the mantra will be “Ask your father!”