The "Gina" Chronicles

Okay. As promised when I launched this blog, I bring you the first edition of the Gina Chronicles. And that would be Gina with a long "I".

So here it goes--my first edition which likely falls into the categories "Too Much Information," "Family Secrets That Should Never Be Told," and "Things Your Children Will Eventually Hate You For." But this story is just too good not to tell.

Livvy's fascination with Ginas started several months back. Perhaps it is my background in nursing, but at our house, I pretty much believe in calling things what they are. It's just plain easier, I feel less silly than making up a hokey word that I feel like an idiot saying, and it saves much confusion later in life when anatomical parts suddenly have to be called by other, more scientific names. So when Liv started asking, I started telling.

Her initial questions started out at:

Q: "What's that?"
A: "A vagina."
C (for comment): I have a gina (her version of the word), too.

Soon, she started commenting:

C: Daddy doesn't have a gina.

and soon:

C: Daddy has a penis.

A few weeks ago, she started naming lists of who has vaginas. She obviously now gets the fundamental difference between boys and girls. Don't laugh. You may be on the list.

So yesterday, here is the conversation she had with Dad.

Livvy: Daddy, you don't have a bagina (notice the morph into a new word), you have a penis.

Daddy: You're right.

Livvy: Where did you get your penis?

Daddy, using the wonderful tactic of not answering a question by asking another question: Where did you get your vagina?

Livvy: Shoppin'.


I can only imagine the conversations we'll have when you're three, Liv. And I'll pretend NOT to be mildly concerned about what comes out of your mouth at daycare.