Ahh, Little Lady.
From the time we brought her home from the hospital, my husband and I have been on a constant teaching journey.
“That’s grass. See — it’s green!”
“This is your cup. CUP. Can you say cup?”
“Oooo — do you see the rain? It’s making our grass grow.”
Yeah, I know — really exciting and stimulating conversations going on in our house.
Of course, a good deal of the Little Lady’s education has centered around body parts.
“Where’s your nose?”
“I see your hair. Can you find Mommy’s hair?”
“Look at your fingers! They’re just like Mommy’s fingers!”
The phrase “they’re just like Mommy’s” gets used a lot. I don’t know why — it’s just something I’ve always said, trying to show her the similarities between us.
I didn’t know that simple phrase would backfire on me.
There is one set of body parts that I didn’t deliberately set out to teach my daughter. Maybe I’m a prude . . . maybe I was just worried about her talking about these specific body parts in public . . . I don’t know. I just didn’t really bring them up.
Until, that is, I got pregnant.
I’m talking about . . . .
(whispers) “BOOBIES!”
Yeah, pregnancy completely changed my silence on the issues of boobies. Why? Why would growing another human suddenly make me very vocal about boobies? (good grief, I’m throwing that word around a lot, aren’t I?)
The answer is simple — I had to teach the Little Lady that Boobies are NOT grappling hooks. Boobies are NOT handles. Boobies are NOT bean bags that one can just plop down on. Boobies are NOT meant to be kicked when one is cuddling with Mommy on the couch.
“No! Don’t touch Mommy’s boobies. That hurts Mommy,” became a very familiar set of sentences around the house. Even Daddy got into “teacher mode” after witnessing one too many incidents of the Little Lady leaving breathless in pain.
“No, no — you’ve got to be nice to Mommy’s Boobies.”
(sigh — seriously! THIS is what’s been going on for seven months)
I swear, now that they are known to be off-limits, she is more fascinated with them. The Little Lady points them out to me all the time, patting or poking my chest and proudly exclaiming, “BOOBIES.” I guess she wants to make sure I know that I have them — you know, ’cause I might forget about them.
And, of course, she recently had a startling revelation — a moment of putting “two and two” together. (no pun intended)
It happened a few weeks ago, while we were visiting my sister, Sarah. Auntie “Sa-wuh” was changing the Little Lady into her pajamas, trying to figure out the complicated world of onesies. The onesie proved a little difficult, so Auntie Sa-wuh pulled it off of the Little Lady in order to start all over.
Recognizing a chance at having a bit of freedom, the Little Lady ran off, laughing and screaming with delight at the fact she’d gotten away.
Suddenly — she stopped dead in her tracks and looked down at her bare chest.
“Ohhhhhhh!”
Sarah and I both looked at her, puzzled.
The Little Lady pointed an index finger at side of her chest, excitedly again saying, “Oooooooo!”
Then, proudly, she turned to us, fingers still pointing to her chest.
“Yook!” BOOBIES! JUST YIKE MOMMIES!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Auntie Sa-wuh found this exclamation HILARIOUS. Mommy? Well, Mommy was just extremely, EXTREMELY thankful we were not in public.
