Underwear, and the contents thereof

Bottoms, bums, arses. Fannies, foofs, vulvas (vulvae?).  Breasts, boobs, knockers and norks.  Knickers, undercrackers and pants.

There.  Now I've got all of that out of my system, it's time for the actual blogging.  I'm sure this is a post that's been said many times, many ways, but much like Nat King Cole, I'm giving you my version.

I've never been one for anatomical terms for body parts.  I've broken my tibia and fibula, but if you ask me, I broke my ankle.  Twice.  And so it begins.  I rarely talk about my breasts or mammaries, but if my underwire is escaping, I'll tell you I'm being stabbed in the boob.  And as I'm quite generously endowed in the nork department, it's a very real possibility.

So, when Squeaky arrived into the world in all her girly glory, I started to wonder.  Obviously with boys there are many words to describe their genitalia, but the vast majority are understood, whoever you mention them to.  Whether it's willy, knob or dick, we all know what you mean.  Willy being the generally accepted term for small boys, just, well, because.  (As a side note, I once worked with a John Thomas.  I still wonder what his parents were thinking)  But for girls?  Which word do you use?

As I said, I've never been one for anatomically correct terminology.  If you are, that's great, but it's just not me.  So, what are our choices?  The word most commonly used in the valleys seems to be "Foof", but, errr, no.  I'd never heard the word til I moved here, and now it's everywhere.  But it sounds too much like fluff, which was a euphemism for fart when I was a child, and fanny farts have their own special word (queef, if you were wondering),  Fanny, as just mentioned in the previous sentence is an obvious suggestion, but as the world is getting ever smaller, and I have many friends on the other side of the Atlantic, I want to avoid the confusion between our (front) fannies and their (back) fannies.  Y'know.

Vulva, foof and fanny are all out then, so what's left?  I couldn't face being all twee and silly with twinkle, flower or something along those lines.  I'd be quite tempted by the Fivepenny Piece's inspiration and Ha'penny (though I really remember it from the Wurzels, but I couldn't find that on youtube), but I'd be the only person to get the joke, and that's probably not good.  And I can't remember what I called it myself as a child.  I do remember learning the correct words in school when I was about 9 or 10 and finding them all hilarious, but being very confused about who had which. Penis is just a nicer word.

Thankfully, Squeaky being Squeaky, she addressed all my concerns before I had chance to make a decision.  She refers to her "little bottom", and I can kind of see the logic.  From her angle it does sort of look like a bottom, and it's certainly littler than her actual "big" bottom.  Problem solved.  While the "it's not a bottom" brigade will probably be every bit as upset with that as they are with "front bottom", that's their problem, not mine, My daughter's body, my daughter's choice of name.  It's one that will not cause confusion, should she have to talk about it, but equally won't raise eyebrows in the playground.

Knickers are the description of choice for undies, thankfully.  Even Daddy wears them according to Squeaky.  We all wear knickers, though some are nicer than others.  Again, I was quite conscious of the international world she'll grow up in, and pants are almost as confusing as fannies.  Our pants are somewhat less acceptable to be on show than those in the US.

As for the rest, her bottom is her bottom or bum.  And sometimes arse, but that's more to describe Daddy's stinky one.  Boobies is her description of choice for breasts, both mine and her own (lack of).  We do windies, though she knows that fart is another name that we choose not to use.  And the longer she goes without learning about boys genitals, the better.

What about your house?  How do you feel about accurate terminology?  When did you introduce the right words?

Mini Malaprop

I've written before about how entertaining it can be when Squeaky misunderstands things when she's learning Welsh at school, and some of the very cute variations of songs she comes out with. But the truth is, she does that in English too, as do most children, and much as I don't want to put her off by laughing, there's times when the malapropisms are just so funny I can't help myself.

For instance, the day she decided to put my washing basket on her head in her best Dalek impersonation, and walk around the house shouting "Inseminate".  That was a tricky one.  How do you keep a straight face?

Dalek-child.

It's not just children though. I've come to realise through Squeaky, how difficult a language English actually is to learn, and how lucky we are to learn it as our mother tongue, because I really don't envy anyone trying to learn it as a second language.  It reminds me of the Greek guy who ran a sandwich shop round the corner from my work, many years ago, who proudly announced to me one day while I was buying an expensive sandwich & can of a certain energy drink: "Red Bull gives you wind!"  And all that time I'd been blaming his sandwiches!

Why?

We've been suffering from the Whys for a while, I think Squeaky picked them up in nursery, much the same as the Chicken Pops.  Whys are extremely contagious, once one child has contracted the Whys, they will spread it to all their friends, acquaintances, and even other children that they just pass by from the comfort of a Tesco's trolley seat with remarkable efficiency.

There is no known cure for the Whys.  Calpol can help to counter some of the more unpleasant aspects, but must be administered to the parent or carer, rather than the child. Gin is somewhat more effective, but must be taken with extreme care, or unintended side effects may include tears, headaches, and actually telling the child "why" in no uncertain terms.

On a more serious note, why (ha ha ha) do all our "Why?" conversations seem to end up in an unending cycle of "Why?", "I don't know", "Why?", "Because I'm not very clever", "Why?", "Because I didn't pay enough attention at school", "Why?" ad infinitum.  We spent our whole car journey home from nursery today discussing why my car was clean and daddy's car wasn't.  The reason being I went through the car wash over the weekend, and he didn't.  Why?  Because my car was dirty. Why? Because I hadn't washed it. Why? Because I was at work. Why? To earn money to buy you nice things. Why? Because otherwise you can't have nice things. Why? Because you have to pay for things. Why? Because otherwise that's stealing. Why? Because that's what it's called when you don't pay for something. Why? I don't know...  and the cycle begins.

If anyone has a surefire cure for the Whys that doesn't involve medicating one or other of us, I'd be really pleased to hear from you, and you could probably make your millions selling it.  Honestly, I would pay good money for a cure, and I'm sure I'm not alone in that.

Oh How Many Peas?

I'm not a teacher.  In a former life I may have been a trainer (no, not a shoe, before you start giggling), but it's one thing standing in front of a room of adults who may or may not want to be there, with my powerpoint presentation to back me up, talking about something that while they might not be very interested in, at least they're going to understand some of. It's altogether different trying to teach a preschooler.  Especially something as abstract as the alphabet.

How am I meant to get her in a receptive enough frame of mind to get A B C to stick?  The letter shapes, not the song.  Though the song is another story altogether.  Have you figured out the title of today's post yet?  Let's sing together.

♫A B C D E F G
H I J K Oh How Many Peas?♫

I shouldn't laugh, but you've got to admit it's funny, and pretty inventive.  I can see the thought process "I don't understand this, so I'm going to sing words I do understand that sort of make sense."  I do it all the time while singing along to the radio.

But there's a more serious side to it.  I've noticed for a while, and the nursery have pointed out to me now as well, that Squeaky's having a bit of trouble with her "C" sounds, mostly at the start of words.  She can say them well when she chooses to, but doesn't.  Apparently I drink Toffee in the mornings, the people over the road have a black and white Tat, and that green thing in the living room in December was a Tristmas Tree.  What's frustrating me is that if she talks about Father Christmas, or a Pussy Cat, she says it perfectly. ARGH, it's driving me crazy (or trazy?)

I've spoken to a speech & language therapist - I knew my office was good for something - and we've made Squeaky's C Box, with a load of toys & familiar objects beginning with C in it, so we can try and work on it,  but it's difficult to get her in the mood to concentrate and play along.  When she realises what you're trying to do, she starts being silly and saying things with a T sound even more, deliberately.  (It's all the more important, because our surname begins with a C, so she needs to be able to say that.)

Has anyone got any tips?

Mortified!

We had a little adventure down to the wilds of Torbay last weekend. Any excuse, I know, but as Squeaky woke us up last week crying "I want to go on holiday, I want to go to a caravan", we couldn't really not take our latest £9.50 hol, could we?  I'll write a proper blog post about the trip another day, hopefully.

Not far away...

Today though, I wanted to share one of the finer moments of life with a 2 year old.  Picture the scene.  We've just been swimming, and are in the changing rooms of the holiday site's swimming pool, squeezed into a little cubicle.  Squeaky is dry and dressed, and giving her usual running commentary of every thought that passes through her head.  I am in the middle of getting dry.

Squeaky: Where's Daddy?
Me: In the boys changing room.
Squeaky: Boys smell of feet
Me: Yeah, ok, they do
Squeaky: You smell of feet
Me: Errr, THANKS, no I don't.
Squeaky: Incey Wincey Spider climbs up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sunshine and ... POPPED the spider out. Out came the sunshine and... POPPED the spider out. (Repeat this line 10+ times) Incey Wincey Spider climbed up the spout again

There are a few giggles to be heard in the changing room as Squeaky is not a quietly spoken child.  At this point, I breathe a sigh of relief, and continue getting dry.  I've just put my t-shirt on, and peeled off the bottom half of my swimming costume.

Squeaky: Mummy, what's that?
Me: What's what, darling?
Squeaky: THAT!  You've got a bit of hair on your bottom!
Me (thinking fast): Oh, so I have. Incey Wincey Spider?

There are now much louder giggles from the rest of the changing room, and I am looking for a hole in the ground to swallow me up.  I mean, WHAT do you say?  And is this one of those milestones I should be writing down for future reference?

It's just a phase

Those must be the four most annoying words in parenting.  "It's just a phase". Teething?  It's just a phase.  Waking at 3 am? It's just a phase.  Separation anxiety? It's just a phase.

Squeaky's latest phase is "What's That?" Addressed to pretty much everything.  Constantly, repeatedly, and to things that she already knows exactly what they are. It's just a phase I really hope passes quickly, because there's only so many times I can tell her what the tap is before I'm going to go bonkers. It's a tap. It's a tap, it's a tap.  A tap, lovey. It's still a tap. It continues to be a tap. It's STILL the flipping tap, for goodness sake.

I swear, the next time someone says "it's just a phase" to me, I'm going to spend the next half hour saying "whassat?" to them without stopping for breath & see how they like the phase.

Please sir, can I have some more?

We're having a bit of a language explosion at the moment.  Squeaky is trying to copy all sorts of words (we had a couple of "pinky"s this evening watching In The Night Garden...), with varying degrees of success and appropriateness.  We're also getting lots of "door", "keys" and "juice". The girl knows what she wants.

There's a couple that she's properly mastered at the right times though.  And it's getting old, fast.  "Mine!" in relation to just about everything, from Daisy, via her drink, to my money.  I've tried arguing, but there's only so long you can spend on a conversation entirely consisting of "Mine!" "No, mine", "No, Mine!", "No, mine" before you just give up and let her have whatever's so important.  She usually loses interest in it then, anyway.

The other accurate word is "More!"  More drink, more chips, more dinner off my plate (it tastes better than hers), more CBeebies.  Generally More! That said, the fuss we've had with her eating, I'm not going to argue if she wants more.  We're not all Oliver Twist here, you know.

Oh yeah, there's one more word she started saying the other day.  I was having the sort of day where all I wanted to do was cry into my coffee cup and make the world go away.  Of course, that's the day Squeaky decides to start saying "DIE" to me.  In my face, repeatedly.  I know she doesn't understand it, and she doesn't mean it, but really, really not what I needed to hear.

Summer, summer, summer time.

Making the most of a brief burst of sunshine yesterday, Ms Squeaky & I (and then a bit later Daddy as well) headed off to Barry Island.  Fabulous first thing in the morning, before anyone was on the beach, but by lunchtime it was chaos.

Now I know she's a toddler, and asserting her tiny independence any way she can, but it's so strange to find that one day she hates something, and the next she loves it.  She was quite unimpressed with the beach on holiday for the most part, it would take her ages before she'd relax enough to play in the sand, and she really didn't like walking on it.  No such fears yesterday, the sand and the beach were the best things in the world (and yes, that includes eating sand, grrr).  I bought a cheapo set of stacking cups from poundstretcher, and we used them to build, dig, demolish, pass around, and whatever else it was she thought we were doing with them.

We also had a diversion into one of the amusement arcades - not Nessa's one, but one of the bigger arcades, where we spent £1 in the 2p falls, got back well over £2 in my "put it all in, count the winnings, put them all back, count, rinse & repeat" method of wasting money in slot machines, and no less than 2 pool ball keyrings.  I have no idea what I'll do with them, but I was most disappointed to run out of 2ps before I won the third keyring in the machine.  Squeaky also took the opportunity to demonstrate what a grubby little madam expert horse rider she is (no 50ps were harmed in the making of this photo, she's still too small)

And finally.  The BIG NEWS!  REALLY REALLY BIG!  We have a real & proper word that isn't Mama, Dada, Baba, Baboon, Abba or Asda.  And she actually knows what she's saying, and uses it appropriately.  The word?  BANANA!  Or 'Nana at least. Bless.  She actually really loves bananas, so it figures.

'Nana!

Computer Says No

Well, if not the computer, then Squeaky Says No, but that doesn't have quite the same ring to it!

She's getting more & more into expressing her opinions now, for good or bad.  So we get "Yeah yeah yeah yeah" or something that sounds like it, in the midst of her babble, but it's fairly well timed, so I'm not sure if she really is saying "yeah" to things.  Often "are you the cutest?" or "Do you want your bum done?"

She hasn't actually said "No" yet, but there's definite headshaking when I ask her to do something she doesn't want to, and a defiant little look on her face.  Oh, and the WAILING-oh-dear-me-the-world-has-ended when I stop her playing with whichever inappropriate item she's just discovered & decided to menace (most recently, my make-up box).

It's strange to see her mind work... she knows when she's not supposed to do something, and looks round to see if she's being watched, giggles, and then carries on regardless.  Little rascal.  And she bites.  Only me, but by goodness does she bite hard.  Not sure how to deal with this, to be honest.  She's not trying to do it to anyone else, and doesn't appear to be doing it maliciously, she's just chewing down on my hands, or the top of my boobs.  So far it's being met with a firm "NO", and removing whatever body part she's trying to eat, but it's not really stopping.  Ah well, this too will pass, I hope.

*melts*

We're getting quite distinct "mama" and "dada" now, in addition to "baba", and of course "baboon" and random screeching and raspberries.

She doesn't really know *when* to use them yet, though she can manage some impeccable timing through sheer coincidence.  Like when I've taken her off to the bathroom for a wash, and she calls "Dada" to come and rescue her, or when I'm not delivering her weetabix at the desired rate and I get nagged "Mama" to hurry up.  And that one time where she broke off in the middle of a feed to announce "boob" at my boob.

Also, I love how babies have conversations between themselves.  They really do, they take it in turns to say something, then the other one reacts, and oh it's adorable.  I wonder what they're telling each other?