Like Animals At The Zoo

A few weeks back my husband and I found ourselves awake long before the kids would get up. Sounds like a good time to have sex, right? Well, we sleep with the bedroom door open so we can hear anyone who gets up in the night, but we were so caught up in the moment we didn’t think to shut the door. You guessed it, right at that critical moment I looked over and there sitting on the bed was our three-year-old. “I want milk,” he pouted bare-chested in his Spiderman underwear, hair standing on end. “Um, sure,” I stuttered pulling the covers up, my husband diving for his garments. The whole day I babied our son thinking we’d ruined any chance he'd have at a normal marital relationship, but how lucky we were he hadn’t gone blind from what he’d seen.

The next day I recounted the horror to my newlywed sister so she wouldn’t make the same mistake in the future and to my surprise, she had a long running list of ward members she’d seen “in flagrante delicto” while attending their daughter’s slumber parties over the years. I have no idea how one person can be in the wrong place at the wrong time so often, but maybe that’s her Abrahamic test in life. Let me just say I’m disappointed I no longer go to my home ward because I’d have some awesome dirt to wield.

At the playground when I told the child-scarring sex story to my friends they all shrugged it off. Seems all their little Timmy’s and Tiffany’s are also getting quite the sex education from mom and dad, plus they had their own stories of walking in on the folks. I didn’t even know my parents were having sex until my wedding night when mom closed the door to her bedroom and passed along the generational advice of, “With sex you can get your husband to do anything.” How true mom, how true.

So, I left myself off the hook of guilt knowing our son had no idea what he’d seen, then I made my husband pinky swear he’d be in charge of shutting the door since he sleeps closest to it, and chalked it all up to being like the other animals in the suburban zoo.