The End of Privacy

Just a routine morning at Chez Gwinne. The scene: a crowded bathroom. LG is sitting on the toilet while Gwinne pops her morning DHEA and hunts around for lipstick.

LG: Mommy, I really like our haircuts. Your hair looks like mine--it's curly!
Me: I like our haircuts, too. But, actually you got your hair from me.
LG: No, I got my hair from [Grad School State]. No, [LG's birth state].
Me: Hair doesn't really come from a place.
LG (indignant): It came from the EGG, Mom.
Me: What egg?
LG: You know, the egg that made me.
Me: That egg came from me.
LG: No, Mom, it came from a MAN.
Me: Well, no, the egg comes from the mother. The sp*rm comes from a man.
LG: Oh. Is that egg that I was inside still inside you?
Me: Well, you weren't really IN the egg, but, no I don't have that egg any more.
LG: Do still have other eggs?
Me: Yes.
LG: Well, if you have other eggs, then I want a brother or sister.
Me: It's not that simple, remember? Sometimes even when people want brothers or sisters they can't have them.
LG: Well, why not?!
Me: Sometimes their mothers have old eggs.
LG: Well, can you TRY to have one?
Me: Can we talk about this after school?
LG: Are you trying to have one now?!

Fuck. I think I'll ask the therapist what she thinks, because I can't handle many more of these conversations. And in a few weeks, LG will be spending her Saturday mornings looking at my ovaries again. Fuck.