Friday, March 27, 2009

Sooner or later

It was bound to start. It always does.

I was heading out of the shower yesterday and was cornered, as I stood nude by the dresser gathering my underwear, by a twittery little toddler asking what "that" was.

"This? This is a [I'm not a prude but I shan't type the V word for obvious internettery reasons]", I said.

"A jamima?" asked an enthralled Lolly.

I thought for a moment. About how cute that name was, about whether if I corrected her, would she repeat it (I hoped so because it was so gorgeous she had named it that even though I was telling her the correct name) and if it was really okay for her to call her bits whatever the heck she pleased. I corrected her. And she repeated her misheard version. Hooray!

"A jamima! Mummy has a jamima and Lawen has a jamima because we're girls!"

For the remainder of the day, she mentioned jamimas and girls in varying contexts. Most of them incorrect and unnecessary and deliciously cute, as is the way and want of a toddler delighted by "rudy" body parts all of a sudden.

This morning, as Daddy headed out of the shower, I asked her what Daddy had. She told me he has a "mima" too (it's all nickname basis already, apparently). And when I said no, look, Daddy is different because he's a boy, she took a more careful look at an exposed and slightly coy Daddy as he got ready for work. And then she promptly fell about the bed laughing.

Daddy has "wobbly bits". Amaaaaaazing! And a trifle weird, judging by the slight furrow of her brow. Ah, she'll get it one day.

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