My mom bought some kinda picture book series to explain it to me gradually as I grew up. I think they were aged by grade or something and we were supposed to read one a year? Little me read constantly and I blew through all the Goosebumps I had checked out from the library and went looking for something else. I found the baby making book stack on the floor in my mom’s room, sat down, and read all of them. Then I went and told my mom her books were weird. She was mortified. She made me dad debrief with me that night and she never mentioned it again.

I’m a teacher too. Started feeling burnt out a few years ago and considered a career change to tech. Didn’t make the jump but did gain a new hobby and a love for privacy, owning my own things, and happy blinking lights in a rack. Still not as jazzed about teaching as I used to be, but making time to work on projects that have clear, achievable goals has been good for me.