First let me immediately squelch two emotions on the grandparent front: I am NOT pregnant. That kind of news would have sent one set into squeals and my mom into sheer panic.
Okay. Glad to have that out of the way.
I never quite know what Lily's little brain is thinking. Today, completely out of the blue, she uttered this thought:
Mommy, what happens to the baby in your tummy when you eat food and it goes down and splashes all over the baby?
I stuttered around and can't even recall exactly what I said, but something to the effect that the baby isn't actually in your tummy, but another part of your body.
The moment I mentioned the term "uterus", she completely lost interest and skipped away.
I don't blame her, I think the word uterus is a little ugly myself and am glad it doesn't have to be a part of my daily conversations.
There are two schools of thought on all this body part naming business. I say two, probably more than that though honestly.
I like the idea of calling everything exactly what it is from day one, or at least I thought I did, until I actually had children. Then it seemed so unnatural and a little awkward. I like the innocence of the little names we have for the "private parts" and think it is fine keeping it that way for a while at least.
Then Lily poses questions like she did today and it makes me feel like a liar.
What school of thought do you belong to? I can totally see the benefits of being more straightforward, but just haven't succeeded in doing it.
The craziest thing to me is that kiddos actually see eachother's "privates" at times during the course of the preschool day. Potty breaks are pretty public business at many of the nursery schools we've experienced. Maybe this freaks me out because I have only same gender children, so the opportunity for life's little lessons doesn't present itself as part of our day.
Which leads me to a true story that makes me giggle every time I think of it. It may not be very funny typed out because I won't be using names and I don't know how to spell a key word...even phonetically.
There once was a 2 1/2 year old girl who was new on the preschool scene. She was accustomed to calling her potty part an ouou (oo, like in soup). She was very concerned when during the day she spied a boy's potty part. After school she ran up to her mother and exclaimed, "Mommy, that boy has a long ouou!"
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