Times they have a’changed, however, many parents still have difficulties talking to kids about sex, either because they are afraid to say the wrong thing, say too much, say too little, or because perhaps they just don’t know how to deliver the information. Personally, I would be stumped. One time my friend’s kid asked me a question about a body part and I froze. Later I asked my friend what the right response would be and she said, “oh, we talk about body parts all the time, you could have just said________________.” She is a very informed parent, and I am constantly amazed at the awesome relationship she has with her child.

When it comes time to talk to your kids about a healthy relationship with sex, body parts, safe sex, pregnancy prevention, masturbation and sexuality, there is good news! There are people out there that specialize in helping parents communicate with their kids. We collected some web sites that may help you when it comes time to have “the talk”…or “many talks” as it may be. Kids need their parents to talk to them about everything they are curious about….it’s up to you to make sure they get the facts they need in order to make informed, smart decisions.

Talking to Kids about Sex: Web Resources

http://www.plannedparenthood.org/rocky-mountains/
talking-to-your-kids-about-sex.htm
Planned Parenthood recognizes the difficulty some parents have in talking with their teens about sex. To assist you in this discussion we have included a few helpful tips and resources that can help promote an open dialogue between you and your teen. As you read through this brochure, know that it is never too late to improve and nurture a relationship with your teen. Do not under-estimate the great need teen’s feel for a close relationship with their parents and for their parents’ guidance, approval and support.

http://www.kff.org/youthhivstds/1460-index.cfm
Kaiser Family Foundation
Talking with Kids about Tough Issues: A National Survey of Parents and Kids
A new survey of parents and kids ages 10-15 on topics such as sex, AIDS, violence, alcohol and drugs. The survey was conducted for the Kaiser Family Foundation and ChildrenNow, as part of a national initiative called Talking With Kids About Tough Issues. More information on the campaign is available at www.talkingwithkids.org or by calling (800) CHILD-44.

http://www.talkingwithkids.org/sex.html
Children Now
Excerpt: Most parents want to do their best in talking with their kids about sex and sexuality, but we’re often not sure how to begin. Here’s our advice:

Explore your own attitudes
Studies show that kids who feel they can talk with their parents about sex — because their moms and dads speak openly and listen carefully to them — are less likely to engage in high-risk behavior as teens than kids who do not feel they can talk with their parents about the subject. So explore your feelings about sex. If you are very uncomfortable with the subject, read some books (see Readings for Parents) and discuss your feelings with a trusted friend, relative, physician, or clergy member. The more you examine the subject, the more confident you’ll feel discussing it.

Talking to Kids about Sex: Books

When Benjamin Wants To Know: Family Conversations about the “Facts of Life.”
Caine, Dona.

How to Talk to Your Child about Sex
Eyre, Linda and Richard.
New York: GoldenBooks, 1998.

It’s So Amazing!: A Book about Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families
Harris, Robie H. Illustrated by Michael Emberley.
Cambridge, MA: Candlewick Press, 1999. (All ages)

It’s Perfectly Normal: Growing Up, Changing Bodies, Sex and Sexual Health
Harris, Robie H.
Cambridge, MA: Candlewick Press, 1994. (Ages 10 and up)

Sex Is More Than a Plumbing Lesson: A Parent’s Guide to Sexuality Education for Infants Through the Teen Years
Stark, Patty.
Dallas, TX: Preston Hollow Enterprises, 1990.

General Sexual Health Information for and about Young People:

www.plannedparenthood.org/
Founded in 1916, Planned Parenthood is the world’s largest and oldest voluntary family planning organization.

www.gurl.com/topics/sex/0,,,00.html
Information, advice columns, quizzes, polls and other resources for young women.

www.teenpregnancy.org/
The mission of the National Campaign is to promote values, behavior, and policies that reduce both teen pregnancy and unwanted pregnancy among young adults. By increasing the proportion of children born into welcoming, intact families who are prepared to take on the demanding task of raising the next generation, our efforts will improve the well-being of children and strengthen the nation.

www.advocatesforyouth.org/
This site is designed to serve both AACAP Members, and Parents and Families. You will find information on child and adolescent psychiatry, fact sheets for parents and caregivers, AACAP membership, current
research, practice guidelines, managed care information, awards and fellowship descriptions, meeting information and much more.

www.aasect.org/
The American Association of Sex Educators, Counselors and Therapists is devoted to the promotion of sexual health by the development and advancement of the fields of sex therapy, counseling and education. The
Association’s mission is to provide professional education and certification of sex educators, counselors and therapists, as well as individuals who supervise sex therapists in training.

www.etr.org/about.html
Our mission at ETR Associates is to enhance the well-being of individuals, families and communities by providing leadership, educational resources, training and research in health promotion with an emphasis on sexuality and health education.

www.mtv.com/onair/ffyr/protect/lifeguide/
MTV’s guide answers a number of general questions about sex. Targeting teens, this site focuses on communication between sexual partners, birth control basics and sexually transmitted diseases.

www.siecus.org/
Incorporated in 1964, SIECUS develops, collects and disseminates information, promotes comprehensive education about sexuality and advocates the right of individuals to make responsible sexual choices.

www.teenwire.com
Planned Parenthood Federation of America’s website provides sexual health information, links to local clinics, opportunities for activism and other resources specifically for teens.

www.sxetc.org
A website by teens for teens; this site helps youth become sexually healthy people and avoid pregnancy and disease during their teenage years.

www.advocatesforyouth.org/teens
Advocates for Youth Teen Scene provides information on sexual health, opportunities for activism, online communities for people of color and LGBTQ youth, and links to local clinics.

www.goaskalice.columbia.edu
Produced by Columbia University’s Health Education Program, Go Ask Alice has loads of questions and answers on all kinds of relationship, sexuality, and sexual health issues.

www.TeenSource.org
A website designed for teens and young-adults providing sexual health information and resources. Site includes celebrity video clips, condom art contest, STD information, local clinic search and much more.

www.nrscrisisline.org
National Runaway Switchboard’s website provides resources and crisis intervention advice for teens.

www.rainn.org
The website of the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network can help you find a rape crisis center near you.

www.prochoice.org
The National Abortion Federation’s website offers information about abortion, including referrals to clinics that perform the procedure.

www.not-2-late.com
Run by the Reproductive Health Technologies Project, this website provides information about emergency contraception, and gives the names and phone numbers of places where you can get it.

Sexually Transmitted Disease and HIV/AIDS:

www.iwannaknow.org
Sponsored by the American Social Health Association, this website provides answers to your questions about sexual health and sexually transmitted diseases, symptoms, tests and treatment.

www.hivtest.org
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s website connects you with HIV testing resources in your local community.

www.whatudo.org
University of California, San Francisco’s HIV InSite new site for youth provides information about HIV/AIDS to young people, including the facts about HIV/AIDS, treatment and resources, national news and updates on research, as well as a guide to safer sex.

www.aidsaction.org
AIDS Action
Founded in 1984, AIDS Action is the only organization solely dedicated to responsible federal policy for improved HIV/AIDS care and services, vigorous medical research and effective prevention.

www.aac.org
AIDS Action Committee
AIDS Action Committee’s mission is threefold: to provide support services to people living with AIDS and HIV, as well as the people who love and care for them; to educate the general public, health care
professionals and individuals whose behavior could put them at high risk for HIV infection; and to advocate at the local, state and federal levels for fair and effective AIDS public policy and funding.

www.amfar.org/cgi-bin/iowa/index.html
American Foundation of AIDS Research
amfAR’s mission is to prevent HIV infection and the disease and death associated with it and to protect the human rights of all people threatened by the epidemic of HIV/AIDS.

www.redcross.org
American Red Cross
The American Red Cross, a humanitarian organization led by volunteers,
guided by its Congressional Charter and the Fundamental Principles of
the International Red Cross Movement, will provide relief to victims of
disasters and help people prevent, prepare for and respond to
emergencies.

www.liaac.org
Long Island Association for AIDS Care, Inc. (LIAAC)

www.pedaids.org
Pediatric AIDS Foundation
Our mission is to identify, fund and conduct critical pediatric research
that will lead to better treatments and prevention of HIV infection in
infants and children, to reduce and prevent HIV transmission from mother
to child and to accelerate the discovery of new treatments for other
serious and life-threatening pediatric diseases.

www.bet.com/flexpackage/0,,p346,00.html
Rap It Up
BET’s Rap It Up is a grassroots campaign designed to address the
HIV/AIDS epidemic in the African American community. Rap It Up seeks to
help African American children and families protect themselves against
and diminish incidences of HIV/AIDS, especially in areas most ravaged by
the disease.

www.lifebeat.org
Learn what your favorite recording artists are doing to fight AIDS.

AIDS: Books

And the Band Played On: Politics, People And the AIDS Epidemic
Shilts, Randy.
Viking Penguin, 1987.

The Eighteenth Emergency
Byars, Betsy.
New York: Viking, 1973. (Ages 9-12)

What’s a Virus Anyway? The Kids’ Book About AIDS
Fassler, David, and Kelly McQueen
Burlington, VT: Waterfront Books, 1990. (Ages 5-10)

Alex, the Kid with AIDS
Girard, Lina Walvoord
Morton Grove, IL: Albert Whiteman & Co., 1991. (Ages 8-11)

Other Resources:

National HIV and AIDS Hotline:
1.800.342.2437

I’d been a single mom for six months when I decided that maybe, just maybe, I was ready to go on a date. But it was complicated. It meant finding a babysitter; and leaving my 11-month-old daughter, who was nursing, for a few hours.It was the year 2001, when online dating was just making its mark, and I was not ready to go there. So, I asked my neighbors Susan and Jim, a wonderfully neurotic Jewish couple with a daughter who is six months older than Mae, if they knew any available men.

“I’m not really ready for a real relationship,” I said to Susan. “Just sex.”

She exploded into laughter: “Well, let’s not be vague here!”

I turned red. Did I really just say that?

I trusted my friends. They’d known me since Mae was a couple of months old and remained my friends even after my boyfriend, Eric, the father of our daughter, left. I also knew that Susan and Jim had my well-being, and Mae’s, in mind.

“So, what are you looking for?” Jim asked me.

“It’s pretty simple,” I said. “He has to be single and attractive — oh, disease- and drug-free, too.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Jim said.

That’s when Jim said to Susan: “Mark?”

“Oh, no!” Susan said. “Don’t do that to Rachel.”

“Don’t do what?” I asked.

“He smokes pot,” said Susan, as her daughter climbed into her lap to nurse.

“Last I heard, he’d quit smoking because the office was doing a drug test,” Jim said.

“I thought he had a girlfriend,” Susan said.

“They just broke up,” Jim said.

I was touched that they were so eager to make me a match, but Susan’s hesitation made me uneasy.

“I don’t think he’s mature enough for Rachel,” Susan said.

“She didn’t say anything about needing him to be in therapy,” Jim said.

Susan turned to me and looked serious. “He recently asked us if we know any cute single women,” she said. “He’s very cute, but he has major commitment problems.”

“Sounds great!” I said. Noncommittal is just what I needed.

***

On Friday night, I’m taking a shower before my blind date with Mark. Not only is it my first date since Mae was born, but it’s my first blind date ever. Mark, I found out, is Susan and Jim’s coworker at Legal Aid.

How bad could it be? I wonder. A lawyer who provides free legal services to the poor can’t be all bad.

After a pleasant chat on the phone, we decided to meet for drinks. I’m grateful for the chance to have a shower before our date. I close my eyes and let the water wash over my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I showered without my baby girl in clear sight; usually, she’s with me in the tub, bubbles and all.

My heart is thumping hard. This is a big deal: going out on my first date as a single mom. He’s a lawyer, I remind myself; at least we’ll have an intelligent, interesting conversation. That’s not hoping for too much, right? I open my eyes to find a razor. I better shave my legs. It’s almost time to go.

My best friend, Amanda, is in the living room; she’s the only person I trust to watch Mae while I’m out on the town, or at least out for a drink. I can hear her reading Goodnight Moon, one of Mae’s favorite books. I’m grateful to Amanda for making the hour-long trip from her apartment to mine to baby-sit.

After drying off, I pull on a black silk skirt with a slit cut high up my thigh, a skimpy black tank top, and knee-high black boots with thick heels. This is my one sexy outfit, cobbled together from my sparse, all-black, pre-baby wardrobe. Not only have I not gone out on a date in that time, I haven’t been clothes shopping either, except for Mae.

When I come out of the bathroom, I find Amanda and Mae lying in our bed. Mae bounces up when she sees me: “Milk!”

“Here you go, sweetie,” I say, stretching out on the quilt and undoing my bra.

I lift my shirt up and Mae flies across the bed, latching on. I love nursing her. I imagine nursing her forever.

“You look stunning!” Amanda says.

“I do?” Here I am, my top hiked up to my neck and my boobs popping out. I don’t feel stunning.

“But you look nervous,” she says.

“Actually, I feel nauseous. I don’t know if I can do this.”

I’ve never left Mae at night like this. Sure, I’m only going three blocks away to a neighborhood bar. But this is before the days of Match.com. I have no experience meeting strangers like this, even ones who come with a trusted-neighbor guarantee. I’ve never even seen a picture of him. How will I recognize him?

“I better go,” I say, as I glance at the clock.

I kiss Mae six times across her face and head.

“No,” she says, clinging to my breasts.

“One more sip, sweetie,” I say, feeling edgy and nervous. I don’t want to go after all. It feels wrong to pull away and leave my baby. Maybe I should just call him and cancel.

“You’re going to be late,” Amanda says.

“I don’t care.”

But that’s rude, I think. And it has been forever since I had a drink with a man. I take a deep breath and kiss Mae three more times on the top of her head.

“I love you,” I say, and gently roll away from her.

It’s hard to leave her, but still, I want to dash away, get drunk, and knock back a man.

Outside, I breathe in the cold air. I’m strutting down the street in my boots and tight skirt, but I don’t feel very hot. I stop and look down. Did I remember to shave both of my legs? Damn! I only shaved the right one. What am I doing? I don’t know how to date. Now I’m ten minutes late and too hurried to feel languid and sexy.

I rush into the bar and look around. A man with wire-rimmed glasses stands up and smiles at me. I shake his hand. He looks much older than I’d imagined, with a receding hairline and lines under his eyes. My friends had promised he was handsome, but I don’t really see it. Darn.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Mark says, touching my arm. He leaves his hand on my elbow for a long moment.

I stop breathing. Then he immediately takes charge, ordering two margaritas and carrying them to a table in the corner. I follow behind him, checking out his tight little butt. Alright, he’s not so bad. I can do this.

“So, you have a daughter?” Mark asks.

“Yeah,” I say, “she’s about to turn one.”

“She must be adorable.” Boy, he’s really saying all the right things.

“She is,” I say. “I’m late because I was nursing her before bed — ”

“You were nursing her?” Wait, is that a sparkle I see in his eyes? I nod my head and take a big gulp of my drink.

“A woman who’s lactating!” he says way too loudly. “What a turn-on!”

I wait for the punch line, but he’s not joking.

I’m flattered and freaked out at the same time. Here’s a man who’s unperturbed by a woman who nurses her child longer than six months (the norm in the United States). This earns him extra points, though he may not have even picked up on it. But what does he mean when he says that he’s turned on? Does he have some weird fetish for lactating women?

He gets up to order another margarita. I’m still sipping my first one. All of a sudden, my breasts are flooding with milk. This happens whenever I think about nursing Mae.

The milk lets down, something I have no control over. I look down, and there’s a damp spot on my chest. I’m leaking.

This is just a tad embarrassing. But I’m hungry for a bit of intimate conversation with a man. I don’t care if he’s thin and tired-looking.

I just want a night of some no-strings fun.

As a single mom, my very first crush was on my local UPS man.

The first time I darted into the elevator with him, I was clutching my nine-month-old daughter, Mae, on my hip.

Two months earlier, her father — who was bipolar and an alcoholic — had walked out the door. His whereabouts? Unknown. I was not supposed to be a single mom. I was supposed to start a family with the love of my life, where we’d settle into a sweet three-bedroom bungalow with a wild garden out back.

But here I was, at age twenty-eight, clinging to my baby girl as if she were my security blanket instead of the other way around.

I squeezed in beside the UPS man. Thanks to his massive rolling cart, it was a tight fit for all of us.

“Hi!” Mae said, waving her hand at him. She had recently started to say hi to anyone.

“Hi!” she tried again.

“Oh, hi, beautiful!” the UPS man said, reaching out and touching her knee.

His sleeve was rolled up on his forearm, and I stole a glance at his muscles.

“It’s gonna be another late night over here,” he said.

I was amazed that he was talking to me. “Oh yeah?” I said.

“Just work, work, work.”

“Don’t you ever play?” I said, flirtatiously, and my cheeks turned red.

He looked into my eyes. “I bowl on Friday nights and have my daughter on Sundays.”

“You have a daughter?”

“She just turned eight. Her mama and I separated last year, so I get her two days a week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

But I was not sorry at all. No, I was not sorry one tiny bit.

When the door opened on the fourth floor, no one moved.

“Excuse me, isn’t this you?” he asked, pointing out the door.

“Oh!” I woke up, realizing that, yes, we did live on the fourth floor.

As I stepped off the elevator, I realized that he knew where we lived. Did that mean he’d actually noticed me before?

My face was burning hot. The truth was: I was longing for some affection. My daughter was satisfying all my maternal needs; I loved her unconditionally. But who was satisfying my need for companionship, and let’s face it, for intimacy?

Being in a relationship with the UPS man seemed like the perfect solution to my present loneliness. I wasn’t ready to date again. That was too daunting. But how convenient would it be to have this man arrive on my doorstep, the goods delivered as promised?

If only it were that easy: a knock at the door and I would open it to find this gorgeous hunk standing there in his brown uniform. I would never have to leave my apartment; he would simply show up.

That evening, as Mae and I were walking back from the drugstore, I could barely look at all the couples out for an evening walk without feeling jealous. Those women had access to safe and loving sex with men who adored them. Though in reality I’m sure they had their problems, in my fantasy they had ideal relationships. And I wanted that too, dammit.

~~~The next day, my doorbell rang and I pushed the “Talk” button on the intercom.

“Who is it?”

“UPS.”

I’d forgotten all about ordering a used copy of Anne Lamott’s Operating Instructions as a ploy to see him as soon as possible. But now I was panicking. I was wearing a stretched-out tank top, Levi’s, and no make up.

Eavesdropping on a conversation the UPS man was having with another tenant recently, I found out his name was Otis. I wondered if it would be okay to call him by his real name.

“Gosh, it’s hot!” he said, extending his arm to give me the signature pad.

“It sure is!” I agreed, as my cheeks flushed.

“I’ve lost count of how many water bottles I’ve downed today.”

I wondered if he was giving me a hint, and I jumped on it: “Are you thirsty? Would you like some lemonade?”

“Oh, no thank you,” he said politely, handing over my package.

“C’mon!” I pleaded.

“Okay, sure.” He took one large stride into my apartment, and I quickly shut the door behind me.

I rushed around the corner to the kitchen. My fingers were shaking as I searched the cupboard for a clean glass. I felt very naughty but pleased. Maybe he was my special delivery, my parcel of love. Maybe it was this simple, to just open the door and find my destiny standing there. Uh, maybe not.

A minute later, I was back.

“Cold lemonade,” I said.

I watched him tip the lemonade to his lips. The ice cubes clinked together.

My soul was singing: The UPS man is inside my house…

“Mama!” my daughter said from the living room.

I turned my head. “Yes?”

“Milk!” she said, pulling me back from my fantasy and back into Mom World.

Elmo’s World was over, and so was my opportunity to flirt.

“I guess she’s thirsty, too?” Otis said.

“Yeah,” I said, embarrassed because little did he know that when she said “milk,” it actually meant she wanted to nurse. She was never a baby who said “noo noo” or “na na;” just plain “milk.”

Not even one year old, my daughter was a very articulate and straightforward little girl. Maybe I should have taken some tips from her.

But it was too late. My UPS man was handing the empty glass back to me.

I noticed his forearm, how tight his muscle was right between his wrist and elbow. I wanted to bend over and kiss him right there. I thought about what I’d do after he was gone, how I’d refill this glass with lemonade and drink it all alone. I’d sip from this glass, his glass, and imagine that I tasted him. I was losing it. But it had been a long time.

“Milk!” Mae called out again, pulling herself down from the coffee table.

“I’ll be right there, sweetie,” I said to her, without turning my eyes away from Otis.

“Maybe we can get together with the girls sometime?” Otis asked.

I held my breath. “I’d love that!” I said. “How about Sunday?”

It was Friday, I thought to myself. That was only two days away.

“Okay,” he said. “We can come after church.”

The next couple of days, I was lost in fantasyland. In between nursing Mae and editing textbooks after hours on my computer, I imagined how sweet and grown-up Otis’s daughter would be. She’d bond immediately with Mae. All big girls love babies, right? I envisioned Otis’s daughter leading Mae to the bookshelf, where she would read Mae one book after another. Perfect.

Then I’d casually turn to Otis and ask, “Would you like to see our view?”

(There was no real view, of course, just a tiny slice of the river you could barely see if you stand on your tiptoes at the bedroom window.)

He’d follow me dutifully into the other room, and I’d shut the door. At the window, our embrace would be automatic. Our mouths would open wide, tasting each other.

Our tongues would dance, as I propped myself against the wall and he leaned over me.

He’d unbutton my blouse and reach his hand in, teasing my nipples. I’d moan hungrily, and he’d remind me about the girls.

Shhhh, I’d say, giggling.

I’d kiss his neck, tasting his salty skin. I’d feel him grow hard against me. That’s when I would reach down and tuck my hand into his pants, taking his hard dick in my hands. It had been so long, and damn, this man felt good!

~~~On Sunday, the doorbell rang at three o’clock sharp.

“Oh!” I said to nobody, as I tried to pull the zipper up on my skirt.

Mae was on the floor, tugging at my leg. “Mamaaaaaa . . .”

“It’s okay, honey,” I said. She didn’t get her afternoon nap. She was cranky, to put it mildly.

I was wearing one of my miniskirts from those old office days, a cream blouse that showed a bit of cleavage, and long turquoise earrings. Mae and I had matching red clips in our hair, and I’d put lipstick on for the first time in months. I’d put her in a cotton pink dress with ruffles, but she kept reaching under the hem and undoing her Velcro diaper cover.

When I opened the door, I was relieved to see Otis and his daughter dressed up, too. They were both in their church clothes. He looked so different — even more handsome, if that was possible — in his white, button-down shirt and creased black slacks.

“Hi,” he said, reaching out and patting my arm.

“Hi,” his daughter, Alicia, said, sticking close to her daddy.

“Come in!” I waved my hand. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

I wanted to be the best hostess in the whole wide world. I wanted to please him. I wanted to show him what a good mom I was. I set out some juice and crackers on the coffee table, but there was no place to really sit down, except for the throw pillows on the hardwood floor.

“Uh, I guess I’ve got the yoga studio motif going here,” I said.

“Are you okay on the floor?”

“Sure!” Otis said, as he tried to sit cross-legged on a bumpy pillow, a look of pain crossing his face. “My knee has been acting up lately, but I’m fine.”

“Your knee?”

“It’s an old football injury,” he said. “Since I’m always on my feet at work, it doesn’t help.”

He grimaced. I wanted to go right over and massage his knee.

“Milk!” Mae demanded, as she crawled to my feet.

“Here’s a cracker, sweetheart,” I said, offering her a rice cake.

She smacked it out of my hand. “No!”

I picked it up from the floor. “Someone didn’t get a nap today,” I told Otis.

Damn, why couldn’t she just get with the program and see that we had a man here?!

Meanwhile, Otis’s daughter had gone over to the bookshelf, where she sat quietly and read.

“Did you enjoy the sermon this morning?” I asked Otis.

He looked at me strangely. “Oh, yeah,” he said dismissively. “It is what it is. I go because it makes my mom happy.”

I’d been so removed from any kind of organized religion for so many years that I didn’t really know how to talk to someone who went to church.

“So, what do you like to do when you’re not working?” I tried again.

“I’m in a bowling league every Friday night,” he said.

“Great!” I said. I’ve bowled a couple of times in my life, mostly gutter balls.

Then Mae started to cry. “Milk!”

“Okay, okay,” I said, letting out a sigh. I sat down with my back against the wall and hike my blouse up. I wanted to do this discreetly, but it was impossible. Mae was tugging on my boob.

My blouse was so tight there was no way to squeeze her head under it.

I draped the blanket over Mae’s head. She sucked loudly and pulled the blanket off, revealing my pale breast.

Otis looked away. I tried covering her head again, but she yanked the blanket right off. Even worse, as Mae sucked my left breast, she reached up and grabbed the right one. Lately, she had gotten into this habit of taking a sip from my left breast, then the right, and back to the left. Mastermind that my girl was, she had figured out that switching back and forth made my milk come down faster.

I tried to move her hand away from my right breast, which she was now squeezing as if she were milking a cow.

But she jerked it right back, underneath my bra. This was not quite the scenario I’d imagined when I thought about going bare-breasted for Otis.

“How you doing over there, baby?” Otis said to his daughter, purposefully gazing away from me and my chest as Mae sucked noisily. Yes, this was very awkward.

One hour later, Otis and his daughter were back at the door, pulling their coats on. I gave him a quick hug, but it felt futile. Wouldn’t you know it: Mae had fallen asleep, lying peacefully on a pillow. And here I was, on my own again.

	Rachel Sarah is the author of Single Mom Seeking: Play Dates, Blind Dates, and Other Dispatches from the Dating World, which was published January 2007. (Avalon/Seal Press). Visit her at www.singlemomseeking.com and write to her at Rachel@singlemomseeking.com.

During the mad rush to get Mae to kindergarten this morning, I duck my head into the bathroom and command for the fourth time, “Please brush your teeth!”

“Mommy, what’s this?” she asks.

In her little closed fist is a Trojan Condom, still smartly packaged in gold, glittering in the morning light like a party favor she brought home from a friend’s birthday party.

Damn.

“Nothing!” I snatch the rubber from her. “We’re late for school!”

“But I want to open it,” she says.

White toothpaste encircles her lips. Her hair is in pigtails. She seems so pure, so innocent.

“No!” I say. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Normally, my sex supplies—condoms, birth control pills, vibrator—are stashed on the highest shelf in our bathroom, above the deodorant, aloe vera, and Band-Aids. But this wayward condom must have jumped off its shelf and landed on the floor.

I wish I could say that I stood still at this very moment and thought, Who cares if we’re five minutes late for school? Talking to my daughter is more important.

I wish I could say that I seized this opportunity to give my daughter an age-appropriate lesson on safe sex. I wish I could say that I am the kind of mother who has no qualms about showing her child what a condom is. But this morning, I say none of these things. Instead, I grab her jacket, dash down the stairs, and remind her, “It’s pizza day!”

There, that’s easy. We’ve moved on from safe sex to pizza. More important, the condom is back in its place and forgotten.

Still, after kissing Mae goodbye at school, my conscience starts speaking to me, as it often does.

She’s just curious, that’s all.

I remember the look of disappointment on her face as I seized the evidence. Why did I react so crossly, as if she’d done something wrong? She’s only five years old! That wasn’t right.

Oh, my baby, I’m sorry.

Haven’t I always vowed to teach her that no subject is off-limits, that she can talk to me about anything? We live in Berkeley, for heaven’s sake! I grew up in the suburbs with a Catholic mother who never uttered the word “sex,” and the last thing I want is for Mae to feel condemned. Don’t I want her to be educated and informed? Yes, she should go into this world knowing how to take care of her body.

What am I so afraid of?

Mae knows exactly what a penis and vagina are. In fact, one of her favorite books is Mommy Laid an Egg: Or, Where Do Babies Come From? by Babette Cole, an ironic story about a sophisticated brother and sister who must explain reproduction to their nervous, afraid parents. Mae laughs when the parents try to explain that babies are made out of gingerbread or squeezed out of a tube.

The book has created a stir among some parents, who claim, for instance, that drawings of couples having sexual intercourse on a skateboard or suspended in the air by helium balloons are lewd and inaccurate. It has been banned from many libraries.

I’ve read this book to her over and over. So, why can’t I just sit down and tell her what a rubber is? What am I so afraid of?

It’s this: What if my daughter asks me if I have sex? What would I say to her? Yes, Mommy has sex. Didn’t you wonder why you sometimes go to a friend’s house for a sleepover? I’ve even had sex when you’re fast asleep in your big-girl bed in the next room. I sometimes worry that you’ll wake up when you hear the bed squeaking. I can make an awful racket! I’m glad that you’re finally a deep sleeper.

I don’t think so. We’ll postpone this conversation for later.

~~~

Tonight, Mae and I are back in the bathroom, brushing our teeth before bed. She’s wearing her Disney Princess nightgown and Dora the Explorer slippers. She looks so wholesome.

I don’t know the first thing about talking to a young kid about sex.

But I can’t stand it anymore. I open the cupboard, reach up, and pull the condom down from its spot on the shelf. I hadn’t realized that it’s an “extra-large,” a freebie I grabbed after a recent doctor’s appointment. This is going to be worse than I’d imagined. I take a deep breath.

“Remember this?” I ask.

She nods her head.

“I’m sorry about this morning, when you asked me what this was, and I didn’t explain it. I’m going to tell you now, okay?”

She puts her toothbrush down on the counter. Her face is eager and open. I bend down so that we’re face to face. I begin by reminding her how babies are made, like in the book Mommy Laid an Egg. As I talk, I rip open the package. Her eyes are glued to it.

“This is called a condom,” I say, pulling it out. She reaches out and touches the latex.

“Remember that a man has little seeds inside him that come out? Well, this traps the seeds so they can’t get into a woman’s body and make a baby.”

I swallow as she pulls hard on the latex. “They get stuck in here?”

“That’s right, honey.” She lets go, and it snaps in the air.

“But, Mommy, why don’t you want to have another baby?”

“Another baby?”

“Yes, I want a baby sister.”

Whew, this is going to be a breeze. I list all the reasons I’m not going to have another baby right now, like the fact that we live in a one-bedroom apartment that is too small for another baby, and the fact that babies cost a lot of money. I skirt around my relationship status: the fact that I have no boyfriend.

“Most of all,” I say, “I’m so happy with you right now, my big girl.”

Then she dashes out the door to choose her bedtime story from the shelf. I grab a wad of toilet paper and wrap it around the wasted condom. Well, it wasn’t exactly wasted. It did go to a good cause, right?

Rachel Sarah is the author of Single Mom Seeking: Play Dates, Blind Dates, and Other Dispatches from the Dating World, which was published January `07. (Avalon/Seal Press). Visit her at www.singlemomseeking.com.

I’m a good mom, but I also have some bad-girl moments.

After months of dating online as a single mom, I take myself offline. I am tired of trying to find a man on the computer. My friend Siobhan is right: I’ve got to smell a man. I just want to have some good sex right now, so I’ve gone back to the old-fashioned way of looking for a real, live man in the flesh.

The fourth floor of the Holiday Inn Pleasant Hill reeks of old cigarette smoke. I’ve emptied my backpack of cracker crumbs and crayons for everything I need tonight: my toothbrush, clean underwear, and condoms. I’ve also brought along some food to accompany the wine that I look forward to sipping. I’m just a few miles from where I grew up in these conventional suburbs.

But at this moment, I’m so far from anything conventional. My bad girl—the part of me that exists despite all the responsibilities, tasks, and pressures of single motherhood—hasn’t emerged in a long time. She’s not exactly bad. She’s this part of me that wants so badly to do things that might be out of character. She makes her most dramatic appearances when I’m feeling out of control with balancing the demands of the rest of my life.

When I lift my hand to knock on the door, the grimy numbers “404″ remind me of something a computer programmer ex-boyfriend once told me. When the Internet was still text-based, an ambitious group of scientists worked day and night to create the World Wide Web in an office in Switzerland. Legend has it that their central database was located in Room 404, so any request for a file from that database was routed to Room 404. If someone requested a file by the wrong name, they’d get the standard message: “Room 404: file not found.” To this day, that message still appears if you make an error on the computer.

This bad girl is not afraid of making errors. She has been around since I was a teenager—but I’ve kept a tight lid on her since becoming a mom.

Not anymore.

The only way to calm myself down during a period of intense restlessness is to seek a man I don’t know very well and live for the moment: This is how I end up in Room 404 of the Holiday Inn with Conner. Room 404. Does this mean I’m making a mistake? When Conner opens the door, all my doubts vanish. He’s wearing a white, flowing cotton shirt with all the top buttons undone and loose-fitting cotton pants. I smile at him and think, You’re my angel.

“Hi,” I whisper. My voice is shy.

When I step into the dark room, I expect him to kiss me or embrace me. But he turns off the TV, sits down on the edge of the bed, and lights a cigarette. We don’t say a word, but I’m smiling. I step over to the coffee table and pull my picnic supplies out of their brown bag, setting them up on the paper plates I’ve also packed.

There are sweet purple grapes, fancy salted crackers, and cheddar cheese. I even brought along a knife and a small, plastic cutting board to chop a green apple into small, perfect slices. My routine comes effortlessly. This is so easy, in fact, that I almost forget I’m making a snack for a sexy, grown man who’s ready to make love to me. Silly me, I’m so used to cutting everything into bite-size pieces for my four-year-old daughter!

“This is weird,” Conner says.

“What is?”

“Everything. You don’t just go to a hotel room with someone you don’t know and have a picnic.”

I hold the knife in midair. You don’t? Why not? Isn’t this every man’s dream, to have an attractive woman he hardly knows spend the night with him at a random hotel?

Maybe this was all a very bad idea. Maybe I should just turn around and go home.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, my friend Siobhan is talking to me. What on earth are you doing, Rachel? What if he’s a serial killer? What if he has a disease? Is it really worth it?

I push those thoughts away and sit on the bed, close to Conner but not touching. I’m not willing to give up the possibility of a wild night this easily. Conner is looking down at my thighs, which peek out of my tight jean skirt. I shaved my legs during a quick shower this afternoon, as my daughter played dolls in her room, and the lotion makes them gleam. I nervously clasp my hands in front of me.

“It’s all going to be okay,” I say to Conner, raising my voice in a sweet inflection. This is exactly what I often say to my kid when she resists doing something, like going to the dentist. Goodness, the transition from mom to bad girl is a little tougher than I thought.

I barely know Conner—we’ve been on only one date. Going back to my place with a new man is not an option. Likewise, going back to his place could be unsafe. Personally, I like to get creative in neutral spots, like a hotel room.

“Want some wine?” Conner says, offering me his glass.

That’s when I notice the bottle of white wine on the bedside table, already opened. I take a very long swig, emptying the glass. My hunger for him and the bad girl in me both come out in full force.

~~~

A few Sundays ago, Conner and I met while I was shopping for a bed frame, and my sister was hanging out with Mae. Yes, how fitting to meet him there, given my frame of mind. Mae and I had been sleeping together on a mattress and box spring since she was born. At first, it was a practical convenience to share a bed. But now that I’m dating, it is time for her to move to her own bed. I scored a half-price deal on the floor model of a castle bed for her, complete with two towers and real turrets. This was a dream-come-true for both of us. She could sleep like a princess, and I would get a full night’s rest.

Still, there’s something humbling about sleeping on a mattress on the floor while your daughter sleeps in a princess bed. So, the afternoon I went out alone to buy myself a real bed frame felt like a big deal. At thirty-two, I thought it was time.

I first saw Conner behind the counter, with his back to me. He was at least six feet tall, and his head was shaved. I have this thing for men who are bald. When I saw him—his smooth head beautifully shaped—I wanted to reach out and wrap my hands around it. He turned around, and I saw that he had big, deep brown eyes and one of those open faces you just wanted to tell your life story to.

“Hi. Can I help you?” His voice was deep and smooth.

“I’m just fine, thanks!” I said a bit too enthusiastically. But I was not just fine. I was red. I have this tendency to blush madly when I’m embarrassed or, as the case may be, terrifically attracted to someone.

I pretended to read the price tags: $115, $225, $400. My mind was a blank. What size mattress did I have again?

“Let me know if you need my help . . .”

There he was, right behind me. All the bed frames around me blurred together. What was I here for again? A mattress? Or a man?

I turned another corner, sure that our eyes would lock again, but he was gone. Was he back at the front counter? No. Maybe he darted into the kids’ department? I turned yet another corner, and there he was, laid out in a big bed with his hands behind his neck.

He sat up and offered me his hand. “Hi.”

I gripped his fingers and let him pull me right onto that bed.

That’s when I noticed his tag: “Manager.” Certainly, this was a man in charge.

“Do you always sleep on the job like this?” I asked.

“Whenever I get the chance.”

I laughed. We lay there staring at each other. Finally, he said, “You came on the right day. It’s our biggest sale of the year, and I’m going to give you a deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I like you.”

He sat up and told me that I could take this very bed home for just $299, with a matching bedside table thrown in free. I ran my hand over the all-silver frame; this was my favorite metal. The headboard had long, wavy curves with three teardrops in the middle. I loved its strength and sensuality. The fact that Mr. Hot sat in this very bed also made the deal quite appealing.

~~~

A week after meeting Conner at the bed store, we went on a date to an outdoor bar in downtown Berkeley.

“I have to be straight with you,” he told me, explaining that he and his girlfriend of three years had just broken up, and he was moving out. He was on the rebound. Major red flag. I closed my eyes for a moment, knowing this would never go anywhere.

At the end of the date, he walked me to my car and wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes, blocking out the bright yellow streetlight. The Bay Area fog wrapped around the city, but I hardly felt it. This is when I proposed that we meet next Saturday at a hotel, and he readily agreed. Looking back, I don’t know what I was thinking. That night, he made reservations and emailed that he’d be waiting for me at six.

I called my friend Arden to tell her my plans, and sent an email with all the stats: hotel address and phone number. I added, “Don’t worry, I got condoms, too.”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Siobhan. Surely, she’d reprimand me. Surely then, I would chicken out. I decide to tell her post-coitus.

~~~

His cell phone is ringing on the table. He reaches out to answer it. “I can’t talk right now, baby,” he says. “No, everything’s fine, I’m just finishing some business here. I’ll call you back soon.”

I have no doubt that he’s talking to his “ex-” girlfriend. When I sit up, I want to go home.

The mother in me is back. Making a snack feels so ordinary. I slice cheese on the tiny hotel table. I try to hold on to that feeling of both of us so connected: his fingers pressing the small of my back, mine wrapped around his smooth head.

On my way home, desperation washes over me, and when I climb the stairs, there’s my new silver bed frame with its matching table.