This day was The Day. The day when your pre-schooler shifts from easily tackled curiosity to "Oh Gosh, how do I answer this!" I was always convinced that parents should not lie to their kids, but at the same time, I have a feeling that the kids do not need to know everything before its time (which is indeed individual). So today, I had to take a deep breath and dive into an intuitive, loving, and as truthful explanation mode as possible.
Before she fell asleep, my four-year-old daughter whispered: I don't want to be a Mom. I was little confused. Do I really complain so much in front of my cuties, how difficult and sometimes straining it is to have kids and take care of them? I started to regret all these improper complaints, but still was enough on alert to ask: "Why don't you want to be a Mom?"
The answer was on a higher level than I expected: "Because mothers and babies have to be in the hospital." All right, so it was not me and my bad presentation of the motherhood. My brain sped up. Aha, so my daughter doesn't like the idea of going to the hospital. Understandable. I tried to explain, that there is a special place with only mothers, babies, doctors and nurses in the hospital, with no sick people around. She asked why doctors have to be there then (hmmm, very good question, my not-so-little smart girl). Me: "They help the babies to come to the world", knowing, that she knows that babies are first in the Mom's tummy. I was sure this was the end. But it wasn't. Now the real issue popped out. My daughter's next question was: "Is it pleasant when a baby comes to the world?" Pleasant, pleasant.. I actually had to think for a moment. It is certainly pleasant occasion when babies show up, but the whole process can rarely be described as a pleasurable experience, unless you are really really good in the art of visualization. So I tried to get away with an evasive answer: "It is a big miracle and people are very happy when a baby is born." Of course this was not a sufficient answer, and so my girl specified her inquiry readily, on an uncompromisingly personal level: "Did it hurt YOU when me and Chani were born?" I was pushed into the corner. No escape. Be brave. Don't lie. Don't get her more scared than she is either. So after a bit of thinking, I answered, actually honestly: "First of all, I don't remember so well the pain, but there was some pain, indeed. However, the joy and the happiness when I saw you, when you were born, were so much bigger, that I forgot about the pain quickly." My stream of consciousness went on in rewind, recalling both births, and I was surprised to reveal, that the pain was not a dominant topic. I could actually think about it without feeling it again - as opposed to a certain period following the birth (I guess there are advantages of being not too good in visualization).
"I am sure that when you become a Mom, you will also be so very much happy, like me." I felt I had to say this. And I felt like giving a real blessing.
I don't know whether my daughter changed her mind about being a Mom, she did not tell me. And I did not ask. But since she moved on with suggestions for a baby girl and a boy names, and fell asleep like a minute after, I want to hope that my answers fell on the fertile land.
And I feel content because I was telling her neither lies nor fairy-tales.
