Carter holds up a tampon. “What’s this, mommy?”
I am so not ready for this conversation. He freaks out at the sight of blood these days, I’m not going to tell him I make some every month. I wing it:
“Umm, it’s something for women to use to wipe.”
Carter gives me an interrogatory stare, then produces the package insert, pointing to the diagram.
“So you wipe on the inside?”
