Noelle McCarthy: Baby-making for beginners

This week's mini-controversy over Family Planning's new sex education kit for schools served as another useful reminder of how old I have suddenly become. The launch of "The Sexuality Road" caused the usual conniptions on the part of Christian lobby group Family First. Perhaps the evocative title had them hoping for something rather more Damascene?

But it also had the effect of taking me back a good 20 years to those heady days when the world of sex moved from the theoretical realm to the actual. And the world got a whole lot more interesting, and confusing, all at once.

When you first start finding out about sex, the thing that strikes you is how much you don't know. All the things you aren't, or can't, be told.

In my case I'd had the basic mechanics since the age of about 4, albeit with a few metaphorical flourishes that would go on to serve me well. The imminent arrival of a baby sister had me asking all sorts of questions about the whys and wherefores of new siblings and their exact provenance.

My mother dealt masterfully with these queries regarding the miracle of conception. That is to say, she gave me some guff about how making a baby was like making a cake - to wit, Mammys have the egg, and Daddys have the, er ... flour ... and when Mammy and Daddy love each other very much the two mix together, et voila! Your sister, Sarah!

As a metaphor it certainly had its limitations, not to mention potential for mischief down the track (self-raising Daddy anyone?).

But having seen my mother baking, the analogy made a certain sort of sense, she having been rather vague about the actual means by which flour and egg came together - the question of the mixing bowl, if you will.

I remained mercifully ignorant as to the mechanics of sex until a few years later, but looking back I have to applaud her for being game and having a go at answering my awkward question.

This was Catholic Ireland in the 1980s, after all. There was a girl in my class at school who thought babies came down chimneys up until the age of 12.

Children do ask awkward questions though, and "where do babies come from?" is certainly up there with "why is so-and-so's new baby so ugly?" (a recent pearler from a 5-year-old acquaintance of mine).

In my case, the acquisition of a brace of guinea pigs at age 7 did much to fill the gaps in my understanding of reproduction. A few litters later and I knew exactly how cakes got mixed, and how much guinea pigs liked to bake.

Being able to watch the whole process culminating in the magical appearance of a group of tiny calves was a highlight of my childhood. Especially later when you could sell the brood for a pound apiece.

But translating what guinea pigs do into human behaviour requires quite a leap of imagination and a fair bit of anatomical reconfiguration. There was a need for several more chats with the mother.

I can still remember the scorching blushes occasioned by such exchanges, on my part at least. Being a nurse, my mother had a good command of the language needed to discuss matters of human biology and reproduction as she outlined the changes my body would go through when I reached puberty.

As an ardent Catholic, she also made clear that God, Baby Jesus and Our Lady would all be coming with me every step of the way. God was aware that this journey was in store for me, and he would be present for every part of it. As would the rest of the Holy Trinity, St Anthony, all 12 of the Apostles etc.

What a wily, effective contraceptive she was supplying. Hormone surges or no, who on earth would want to have sex for the first time with the Infant of Prague looking on?

And this is what Family First is saying, I suppose - that it is a parent's, rather than a teacher's, place to educate children about sex. Certainly those first questions are probably going to be asked of parents, rather than of teachers and, of course, it would be great if parents could answer them as clearly and honestly as possible.

Mixing bowls and Victoria sponges notwithstanding, I love the fact that my mother waded in there and had a go. It set me up to be interested and curious about the whole enterprise, and meant that I wasn't ashamed to think and talk about it.

Those first questions are the important ones though, and the fact is, for whatever reason - embarrassment, shame, religious conviction, or plain old unavailability, some parents aren't able to give answers.

In rolling out this new programme, Family Planning is simply anticipating the curiosity (and trepidation) that younger kids feel when they start thinking about how we've all come to be here, and what Daddy and Mummy may have done to bring that about.

As for the criticisms by both Family First and a spokesperson from the Catholic Church, that it is a "one size fits all approach" and some Year 5s aren't ready to learn about sex, I respectfully suggest that all 8-year-olds are curious, about the world, about people, about sex.

I think it's also a parent's responsibility to make sure their questions are answered as honestly and fully as possible and appropriately for the child.

Never fear if words fail you. Might I suggest two guinea pigs and a mixing bowl for a start?