Yesterday on the way home from school #4 was complaining that he didn't like being the youngest kid and the only boy in our family. The obvious solution was for us to have another brother. I tried to let him down easy. We aren't having more kids. That bridge is burned, if you will.
A few minutes later he asked me, "Mom, how do you do flex?"
How do you do flex? I had now idea what flex was. Let alone how it's done. So I repeated his question to him, clarifying that I had heard correctly. "Yeah, flex. How do you do flex. You know, how we get babies." Oh, THAT flex.
"Do you mean sex, son? How do you have sex?" "Yeah, sex." It would seem he thought the problem with getting that little brother may find it's solution in this answer.
"Well, ..." I then tried to give my best calm, truthful, but simple and 6-year-old-appropriate answer to this. I ended by saying that it was a private thing between a mom and dad. His response was not what I was expecting.
"So if you do it in the bathroom, I guess you better lock the door."
