Um, what birds and bees?
My friend T. just called to tell me her six-year-old daughter had asked her, "But, Mom, how does the sperm get to the egg?"
I told her she was lucky her daughter hadn't asked me.
"Well, Emily, the thing is, it doesn't."
"The daddy sits alone in a grubby little room and frantically performs the secret handshake, while the mommy lies on a gurney drugged to the gills. Then a mysterious masked man introduces a needle the size of a shish kebab skewer into her bathing suit area. What? Wait, where are you going? Hey, why are you crying?"
Or, more succinctly...
"When a reproductive endocrinologist and my Visa card love each other very, very much..."
Any of you with children are welcome to give old Aunt Julie a call when it's time to have that awkward conversation. Or I suppose you could just buy a record, if you think it'd be safer.