18 WHEN THEY START ASKING QUESTIONS | STEPH AUTERI
and libido. This new job revived my passion for
the work and showed me how my writing could
be used as a tool for advocacy. I started to write
more about public health policy and sex ed.
While I was pregnant, I interviewed dozens of
educators for the organization’s monthly newslet-
ter, and by the time I popped out my daughter, I
had a much greater awareness of what schools in
the United States were teaching their students,
and I knew that in many cases it was wholly inad-
equate. The sex education I received when I was
growing up—both from my school and from my
parents—had left me ill-prepared for the sexual
encounters I would eventually have as an adult. I
did not want that for my daughter.
Still, being steeped in sex content did not
mean I had the first clue about how to tackle sex
ed myself. Among other things, sexuality had
become so normalized for me that I could no
longer discern what was and was not appropri-
ate for polite conversation, let alone what was
appropriate for a child.
So I dug in, reading several books on teaching
your child about sex, including Debra Haffner’s
From Diapers to Dating and Deborah Roffman’s
Talk to Me First and Sex and Sensibility. I read the
research, too, which shows how children benefit
from learning about their bodies at a young age,
and how learning about boundaries and privacy
and body comfort can protect them and eventu-
ally lead to greater sexual—and overall—health.
The research even shows which topics are devel-
opmentally appropriate for children at the various
stages of their life. It shows how they shift from
a very literal understanding of the world around
them to one that allows for greater complexity.
Even so, I struggle with when to be open and
when to hold back. I struggle with my desire to
teach her everything, because I know that this
desire—much like other parents’ desire to share
less information—comes from a place of fear. The
decisions people make around sexuality education
tend to be about more than knowledge or health
or even safety. When it comes to the lessons we
impart around sex, we are also imparting the
deep-down values we carry.
I am at pains to be honest with my daughter
and to treat sexuality as just another normal part
of life. But I also don’t want to burden her withinformation she’s not developmentally ready for.
When I talk to her about body parts and privacy
and red flag behaviors, which of my own fears am
I passing along?
My life provides many opportunities for figur-
ing out this balance.
“Mommy! Who is that?” my daughter will
ask, having spotted a woman in nothing but her
underwear in my Twitter feed.
“That’s a woman wearing undies and a bra,” I’ll
say, choosing not to elaborate.
“But what’s her name?” she’ll ask insistently,
because clearly that is the priority.
“I don’t know,” I’ll say honestly and leave it
that.
“Oh. OK,” she’ll say.
Or: “Mommy? What is this?” I’ll sometimes
hear moments before my daughter wanders into
the bathroom holding a vibrator that has been
charging in my bedroom.
“That’s Mommy’s special toy,” I’ll say. “Could
you maybe not play with Mommy’s toys?”
At night, we sometimes read Robie Harris’s
Who Has What? together, an acquisition that
has since led to the most delightful conversation
about penises, vulvas, and butts I’ve ever had.
(P.S. The takeaway was that we all have butts.)
But when she brings me her copy of My Body
Belongs to Me or Tell Me About Sex, Grandma, I
wonder if I brought them into her life too soon.
Last month, I had to bumble my way through
a conversation about private parts after I noticed
my daughter was touching her vulva. I thought
maybe I had let her mosey around in a wet pull-
up for too long, but she admitted to me that she
was doing it because it felt good. The incident
made me think of those internet commenters,
the ones who would label her vulva her “naughty
bits,” the ones who would prefer that I pretend
her clitoris and labia do not exist although she
can clearly see and feel that they are there. How
would they respond in such a situation?
As for me, I did as well as any parent might
in such a situation. I talked about getting to
know your body. I talked about privacy. I even
acknowledged the validity of the pleasure she was
feeling. Did I do everything wrong? Maybe. But
what can you do?
I suppose we’re both still learning.