It was about three days before our wedding. Well, three nights before it, to be specific. John and I were in bed, and my parents, visiting for a few days before the BIG day were in the guest room where they’d already slept for a couple of nights.
I reached over to cuddle my husband-to-be when suddenly, I stopped.
“John,” I said, stupidly in shock. “My DAD is in the next room! He knows!”
“That we’re sleeping together.”
“Huh?” he said, sleepily. Then he cracked up.
Naturally, I felt foolish. How could I not have realized for the previous two nights that Daddy knew I was in bed wish some guy. I was so embarrassed. How would I look at Dad in the morning? He’d know what we’d been doing. I was shocked. The fact that I was about to marry that very guy just didn’t matter. I hadn’t yet. Nor had I ever acknowledged that, well, I had done it before. Slept with him. (John, of course, not Dad.)
I wore off-white.
I was equally shocked a couple of weeks ago, but in the opposite way.
That’s when John and I visited our son Jacob at college. We were chatting in Jacob’s living room when out of the blue, Jacob asked what we knew about sleep apnea.
“Well, it’s where you suddenly stop breathing while you’re sleeping,” I said.
“Why, are you concerned about it?” John asked.
“A little,” replied Jacob. “’A’ said I did that. Apparently I snore sometimes.”
“How would she know?” I asked with a slight smile.
“She heard me that night she slept in the guest room at home,” Jacob responded (without missing a beat). The guest room is across the hall from Jacob’s room.
I felt much better after he said that. Because there is only one time you should talk with your children about sex. And it usually happens when your child is just approaching puberty, and always at an awkward time.
Jacob “popped the question” on me when he was about 9 years old. We were living in Switzerland, and Jacob and I were in downtown Geneva. We were in the parking lot at Cornavin, the Geneva train station, which was designed by a pillar-loving gnome who had never seen normal sized cars; Jacob and I were chatting as I backed out of a very tight spot.
Then, without so much as a segue, Jacob said “Mom, Harry told me how babies are made, but I don’t think he got it right.” Somehow I did not hit a post or a pedestrian while explaining sex to my son.
I was even less ready for the more recent conversation.
It was so casual, so ordinary, so normal.
Well, normal except for the fact that I had to admit that my son is a grown up. And that he has a girlfriend (whom I adore). And that he was comfortable talking to me and John about the fact that he was once in bed with her.
Because I’m sure it just happened the once.