The night I gave my child condoms

It happened.

Something I wasn’t really prepared to deal with.  Well, not in a rational way, anyway.

I will leave out all give-away descriptives to protect the innocent that doesn’t seem to be interested in protecting their self.

You see, the other night I was informed that one of the teenagers that I may or may not have given birth to, may or may not be having sex with their little teenaged friend.

And by sex, I mean intercourse.

One of my children.

Having sex.

And not by themselves.

After I recovered from the initial jaw-dropping news, I shook myself off and let my jaw drop as another little tidbit of info was relayed to me.

Sex is one thing.  Right?  I mean, I’m not living with my head up my ass, as much as I’d prefer that sometimes.

Teens have sex.

It happens all the time.  Since forever.

This particular teenager is old enough (or so they think) to make these types of decisions.  I was just a little bit older when I started ‘ahem’ing.

If the news being shared with me had stopped with the fact that sex is now happening, I would have gladly stuck my head back into a dark hole and hummed mindlessly.

Except then there was this little humdinger.

This said teenager may or may not be playing Russian roulette using little swimming dudes as bullets.

And there are not going to be grandbabies in my near future if I can help it.

None.

So, upon hearing this not so delightful news, I marched into my bedroom.

I went into my own, personal, non-baby making stash kept in a drawer.

I grabbed an assortment from the Durex Pleasure Pack.  Yeah…Durex.  Trojan smell bad.  Yeah, we use condoms.  Not only are there no grandbabies in my near future, there are no babies in any part of the rest of my life…coming from my own body.  Ever. Never. EVER.

I made a nice, neat little collection for the kid and placed it on the kids dresser.

I informed my lovely child that I had left a protection plan as a present.

I received a deer-in-headlights response.  But, in the kids defense, log sawing was happening when I barged into the room.

Then, I went back into my room and had a mini freak-out.

I just gave my child, whom I may or may not have birthed, a very fancy supply of colorful and textured condoms.

Letting it sink in for a moment here as I re-read my words.

I. Gave. My. Baby. Condoms.

Because I don’t want my baby getting or giving STD’s or worse.

And just as importantly, I don’t want my baby having a baby.

Not yet. it’s not time yet.

Whether or not sex is really happening, I don’t know.

It hasn’t been confirmed and I’m hoping I don’t ever confirm it firsthand.

All I know is that the only way I could figure out how to protect my child from potential disaster is to give my child protection.

I’d prefer bubblewrap and duct tape.

But, I have to let go, I suppose.

So, stern lectures will have to replace duct tape.

And in the place of bubble wrap, condoms.

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