'Mell My Winger

Here's one for the baby book.

Violet's new favorite game to play? 'Mell My Winger. Otherwise known as "Smell My Finger," a game that, though highly inappropriate and totally gross, fascinates and delights her. Endlessly.

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In the car, on the way to pick up Hazel from preschool:

"Mama? You 'mell my winger?"

"No, Violet. That's rude."

"You 'mell it, Mama? It 'mell like my BUTT!"


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In the car, on the way home from picking up Hazel:

"Hazel! 'Mell my winger!"

"Okay!... EWWWWWW!" (Falls for it every time, agrees that this game is hilarous).

"It 'mell like my ba-dinah!"

"Yeah! It does... hey Violet, say 'vulva.'"

"Wul-wa."

"Mama! Violet's talking about her private parts not in private!"

(Guess who's really into the "All About My Body" book?)

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Now that she is wearing underwear during the day, access to her girly parts is free and unlimited. There's a lot of, um, exploring going on. Especially in the car, where there's not much else to do. We've had the "private parts" talk, but that means absolutely nothing to her. She's going through her naked phase, and discovering her body, and I'm cool with that. I get it. But it's startling, and not a little off putting, to look over my shoulder while changing lanes, and see Violet mining for gold down there.

It's a good thing she doesn't wear rings. It's also a good thing that my car's windows are tinted dark black; if people could see what was going on in the backseat, they would.... well, they would change lanes, at the very least.