I Am a Couch Baby
One thing a parent should never tell their child is how they were conceived. I know this from experience. First of all, nobody wants to hear about their parents having sex as it is, but when the story involves you, it is somehow that much more disturbing. Perhaps my view on this topic would be different had the story of my conception been a bit different. You see, I was a couch baby: a product of spur-of-the-moment, random, romanceless sex.
You may ask how I came to know about this. The truth is, my parents have always had this twisted sense of humour in trying to make me and my siblings uncomfortable in any way possible. This includes telling sex jokes and sharing awful tid-bits of information that should never be exchanged. The weird thing is when the topic of our conceptions came up, I thought it may actually be nice to see how I came to be a part of this world. That is until I found out I was a couch baby.
I don’t quite remember the events leading up to this discovery. I have ultimately blocked this from my memory. But I do remember that when the topic came up, I had a slight glimmer of hope that there was a great story behind the making of me. Perhaps I was the product of a vacation getaway or a romantic evening that involved candles and slow music. I tracked my birthday back by nine months and noticed I may have been a birthday present for my dad. Surely there would be a good story there. The sad truth, as my mother felt obliged to tell me, is that none of these are true. She laughed and shook her head no when I asked her if there was any romance whatsoever. And then she felt the need to inform me that she told my dad that if she were to get pregnant, it was his fault since she was off the pill. And here I am.
To all the parents out there, or to everyone who may become a parent at some point, please don’t tell your child the intimate details of their conception. And if you do plan on sharing this anyway, at least make up a good story to go along with it. For example, I’d be okay with the fact that I was a couch baby if maybe there were rose petals scattered on top. Either way, I think that knowing how you came to be is best unknown, unless you have the same twisted humour as my parents and plan on scarring your kids for life… With that said, I’ll probably get the same pleasure in about twenty years by doing this to my kids too.
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2 Comments to I Am a Couch Baby
Oh my gosh! I don’t think I could have survived at your house while growing up. I am so sensitive to that kind of thing. If I saw or even heard my parents rumbling it on in the house, I would have absolutely died.
I agree with you that you shouldn’t talk to your kids about those types of details… It’s just disturbing.
September 28, 2009
one time I came upstairs in my house to find my parents doing some unspeakable act on the couch. Of course they separated from each other within a second of actual time…but it felt like forever. I couldn’t even eat that night.
Hey, u should visit my site and post a comment. Then maybe I could visit your site and post a comment. Then we could repeat that for like ever. Or until one of us stops posting comments.
Just a thought.
September 27, 2009