"What word are we using?" my ball & chain calls from the other room.
"What the hell is he talking about?" I think.
"WHAT WORD ARE WE USING?" he screams this time, opening the office door to look at me with intensity.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I say.
"The vagina. The VAGINA! What are we calling IT - the VAGINA?" he replies in such a way, I can not understand why out of left field simply asking me "what word are we using?" would immediately trigger me to think - oh he's talking private parts.
Truth be told, I've been thinking about this a lot because she's talking more, referring to things more, and it's the parts she has, it's parts we have to talk about.
I'll admit it. I was going in the way of "ooh-la-la" or even a "woo-woo." I first thought I was going the route of ooh-la-la because well, it's hysterical and fun and why the hell not? The more I thought about it though the more I realized it was funny but not funny. I started to think about it. Should she feel uncomfortable using words properly just because I do? Should she hide behind humor because sometimes that's what I do? This whole parenting gig isn't always (ever) glamorous - but it is powerful.
"With power comes great responsibility." - Spiderman's uncle.
It's our responsibility to make sure she grows up a good kid and a better person. If she inherits our humor, so be it - I'm not thrilled of how much she might curse at the end of the day, but I hope she does laugh, A LOT. I hope the laughter doesn't comes from a place of hiding. I need to model that behavior though and step out and shout it from the rooftops if I need to.
So vagina. vagina. vagina. That's what we are calling IT. Vagina. Vagina. Vagina.
(Last line very much inspirited by reading and listening to Dr. Lissa Rankin over at Owning Pink as she was highlighted as one of BlogHer'10 Voices of the Year. Check it out.)