I do not come from an effusive family, and I am the farthest from a huggy person as you can get. We always kept our private business to ourselves whilst I was growing up. We still do, which is just fine with me.
I never had the "Sex talk" with my Mum. Everything I know I learned from books, my friends, or just by doing it.
To be honest, I'm glad I never got the talk with my Mum, because if you met her, you could never imagine the words vagina or penis could even come out of her mouth..it would just be very, very wrong.
I know my sister got the talk, which is more than I need to know, because it was my Mother who told me my sister was allergic to her husband's sperm and that was why they were having a hard time getting pregnant.
What do you even say to that?
"Yuck" is what I said.
When I started to get sick, my Mum suggested several things that could be wrong with me, including kidneys, liver, thyroid, etc.
But a week ago, she started to suggest things a little more in the "privates" area.
She asked what method of birth control I use. At least she doesn't ask if I am "sexually active"-a phrase that gives me the willies, but I figure methods of birth control aren't too, too personal or extremely out of bounds, so I let it continue. I didn't really want to talk about that, but she is determined.
The chat goes something like this:
Mum: What kind of birth control do you use? Me: Um.... Mum: Well that may have something to do with all this sickness. Me: Um.... Mum: Do you have a diaphragm? Me: Um...Yes, in my abdomen. Mum: Be serious! Me: No, Mum, I don't. I have an I.U.D. Mum: THAT could be the answer! Those things are bad for you, and all that menses (yes, she actually said menses) is meant to exit the body, not stay in it.
As if it's all storing up and I might at any moment explode into a big womanly fertility bomb, soaking everyone in a 5 mile radius.
Me: No, Mum, I don't think it's that. Mum: How do you know? My friend Denise...
This is when I started to block it out. I mean, I don't want to talk about my own uterus let alone Denise's.
She went on for a good 5 minutes whilst I watched the cat across the way piss in the neighbour's garden. Much more interesting than Denise's "woman problems"
Me: Mum, it's not that. The I.U.D. is not in my intestinal tract. Mum: Don't be smart, you're not a Dr. how do you know?
By now this conversation has gone on waaayyyy too long,and now I'm getting really grossed out and this is entering an area that I NEVER wanted to or ever want to be in with my Mother ever again.
So I tell her I will ask the Dr. the next time I see him.
Add one more scar to my continually damaged and deteriorating psyche. At least my therapist will make some money out of my humiliation.