balls and butts – everywhere

So, it goes without saying that my daughters are also not pure, sweet little flowers. My girls are downright crude sometimes. Now don’t get all judgy on me. At least let me explain first. They have manners. They say please and thank you, excuse me, and Gianna washes her hands. (Let’s all socially shame Scarlett because I am calling that child out. She’s gross.) Mainly, my girls are crude in their humor. I didn’t set out to raise them to be that way. It all started quite innocently and with the highest parental intentions.

When Gianna was born, I was reading all the parenting advice I could find online because my experience was pretty mediocre in that department. And, like most first time parents, I was uber-paranoid about all the ways in which the world could fuck up my kid.

How do I keep them from doing drugs.
How do I keep them safe from pedophiles.
You know, the stuff you should be thinking about when they are 2.

What the fuck did I get myself in to?

I stumbled across an article back then that said you should teach your kids to know the real names of your body parts. For simple reasons but also in case some disgusting human decides to touch them, they know the real names of their private parts. So, if Gianna said to an adult, “Mr. O’Leary was really weird the other day when he said he wanted to touch my vagina” they would know fucking immediately that shit was wrong. But, if she said he touched her “tink” people wouldn’t have a clue.

Tink is what we also call vaginas in our household which is seriously hilarious if you have ever watched the Tinkerbell movie. There’s one part where she says “Being a tink stinks” and I can’t help but bust out laughing every single time. Because I am a child.