“Dad! She wiggled her vagina at me!” yelled Master8.
“What …? What did you just…? I mean, what…?” Words were failing me. “Please. No.”
“But that’s what a girl’s wee wee is called,” he assured me. “A vagina.”
I mean, on the one hand it’s nice we’re attempting to use the proper names for things now, but on the other hand….
“Just stop,” I pleaded with him.
Usually there’s more supervision between the bathroom and their bedrooms so less time to encourage the use of big uncomfortable words. This whole scenario came about because we were late home today, so dinner and baths had us hopping to get them done by the kids’ usual bedtime. Baths, in fact, were a production line, with two in the tub while the other three went through the shower.
So it’s not like our kids don’t see each other naked, it’s just I don’t think they should be using their nakedness to tease each other with.
“It’s not my fault she wiggled it at me,” said Master8.
And it occurred to me he was right: I had someone more in far more need of my parenting at that particular moment. I rounded on Miss6.
“Clothes!” I told her. She hadn’t even bothered to wrap the towel around herself. “Find some clothes, now. And you do not wiggle anything at anyone.”
“Daddy,” said a fully dressed Miss6 a few minutes later. “What’s the proper word for a boy’s doodle?”
Tracey stuck her head in the room. “Some days you can substitute the word Bruce,” she said before disappearing.
Clearly she was leaving this one in my lap, so to speak.
Standing at the crossroads, I considered the importance of telling kids the truth vs my needing to live in this house and not hear these words coming out of my baby’s mouths. In the couple of seconds after she asked I thought about the old ‘babies are delivered by storks’ nonsense and in the end, in the interests of a better educated and therefore better prepared for life child, I put myself a disgruntled second.
“It’s called a penis,” I told Miss6, like I was imparting the wisdom of Solomon.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, and happily ran from the room. Into Master8’s bedroom, where he was getting changed. “Look at your peanuts!” she yelled, pointing at his nethers.
Yep, that’ll do I reckon. I’ll deal with Master8’s self esteem issues, which are sure to stem from this, some other time.
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’