Well first and foremost, I definitely intend to have kids and hopefully within the next five or so years! I’ve always wanted to be a mom and I think I’d make for a great one — in large part because I didn’t have a very good mother myself.
Now, onto your question. Honestly, I’d do my darned best to be as accurate as possible (leaving out the gory details) in describing the ‘baby-making process’ to my kids. A major part of the reason for this is that there’s just so much misinformation circulating about sex! And especially nowadays, with smartphones and wifi and social media (all of which weren’t nearly as prevalent during my own preteen years), there are a laughably ridiculous number of external sources from which they could get their information regardless.
I would much rather my children hear the truthful, accurate information from their own mother (and learn to trust me to provide guidance whenever they need) as opposed to discover misinformation in some vague and likely eccentric crevices of the internet.
Secondly, I think that providing accurate information about sex during kids’ pubescent years lays the foundation for sexual confidence. I personally come from a traditional, socially rigid culture (Russian, in case you’re curious) that unfortunately utilized sex, especially the sexual openness and confidence of women, as a means of personal and public shame. Talking about sex or sexual urges and wants and desires was firmly taboo, and any girl who dared to even inquire was tagged as unfeminine and whorish. As a result, I grew up with a litany of sexual and physical insecurities that I battle with even now, day-in and day-out.
I don’t want my own children to suffer the same psychological and emotional anguish that I’ve struggled with for most of my life. I don’t want them to ever feel uncomfortable with their own bodies, to ever feel sexually or physically inadequate or unattractive, or to ever feel any sense of guilt and shame for enjoying the tremendously healthy and pleasurable part of life that constitutes sex. I don’t want them to ever starve themselves into anoretic boniness and have IV needles forcibly injecting raw glucose into their vasculature. I don’t ever want them to ever disgustedly stare at their reflections in a mirror, alone for hours, and tearfully piece apart every imagined dysmorphia.
And most of all, I don’t ever want them to feel unloved and unappreciated. I want them to know, without a shadow of a goddamn doubt, that for as long as I’m alive their mother will be there to love and to cherish and to guide.