“Mommy do you write children’s books?” is the question my baby girl posed to me while getting ready for school.
This this where my dilemma started: tell my daughter the truth, mommy write sexy erotic romance novels. Which would result in more questions than I am prepared to answer. Or tell her a half-truth, mommy writes romance. This way when she tells her teacher and her friends in our over the top, super conservative community in Texas, I won’t have a lynch mob at my door.
No seriously, I love my community. They act all shocked to my face but are the first ones to order the 50 shades or the crossfire books.
Now back to the topic. The half-truth I told my daughter satisfied her curiosity and she went back to happily preparing for school. Eight hours later, after a busy day filled with fourth grade academics, my sweet baby returns home with more questions.
She sat down at the kitchen island, gave me a stern face, and announced that she told her teacher that I had a book deal and that I will achieve my dream of having my book out by forty. (Great my age is now public record ?) She elaborated by saying her teacher wanted to know what kind of romance. She told her she didn’t known and would find out.
So here it came, the question I didn’t want to answer.
“Mommy what kind of romance do you write?”
I looked straight at her and said, “The kind with kissing.”
To that, she turned her nose up and responded, “Like the way you kiss daddy?”
“Yes.” (I have a hot husband, I like kissing him)
“Are there any kids in your books?” (How do we jump from kissing in the books to kids? The random thoughts of a nine year old.)
“Will you write one with kids in it? Just don’t make them kiss?”
To which I responded, “Sure, one day I will write a book with kids in them.”
“Can you give them my name?”
“Of course. I’ll even name one after your brother.”
“Okay, mommy.” She jumps up. “One day I am going to write a book too. But it is going to be about gems and bugs.” With that, she happily went off to start her homework and she hasn’t asked any more questions the type of writing I pursue.
As I sit and write, I feel a sense of foreboding regarding future conversations that won’t be satisfied with vague answers. I dread the day she realized mommy writes books with not just kissing but sex, lots of it.
However, I won’t linger on those thoughts too long. I will enjoy my short-lived reprieve where my girl believes God put her in my belly because I married her dad. Yes, I know this view is about to crash and burn but I am prepared. I went through it with my son and my plan is to make it so technical, honest, and detailed that she loses interest in the subject.
Wish me luck on my not so realistic plans!