The following post was written, like, a hundred years ago, waaaay back when I first started blogging, sometime around the beginning of April. It was in response to the commentary provoked by a post that I had written that same day on my struggle to figure out what to call WonderBaby’s nether regions – I had been leaning toward cute euphemism, and recoiling at what I perceived to be overly-clinical usage of correct terminology, until I received very instructive comments which pointed out excellent reasons for using such correct terminology. This post (that is, the discussion around it) was a watershed for me, in that it demonstrated to me, forcefully, just how much the momosphere has to offer – I learned much from the comments to the first post, and those comments really prompted me to do some important self-reflection.

So I’m re-posting it here, with the indulgence of the wonderful MommyBlogger ladies, for this reason: it was one of my first meaningful introductions to the wisdom and warmth that abound in our community. I also wanted to repost it because it reflects where my head has been at with all of the recent discussions about sexuality – I would probably have written something very much like this post today (were I not currently in the throes of some big time bloggy blahs) in response to much of the discussion that has been going on about how to provide our children with positive feminine – sexually feminine – role models.

I might have simply posted multiple comments in response to the excellent comments to my last post (which you can read here to get caught up), but I decided that the thoughts that those comments provoked were worthy of their own post. What follows might be somewhat incoherent, being entirely off-the-cuff and the product of a mind that is racing faster than fingers can type, but here goes...

If you've read that post, you'll know that I was feeling prissy about referring to my daughter's vagina (vulva! Thanks, Moxie!) by its proper name. Not that any sex talks are pending with WonderBaby, whose language skills are currently limited to ‘mama’ and ‘hoo!’; the issue came up for me when I realized that our bathtime body-part-naming song was lacking in pedagogical rigor when it came to certain body parts. I felt uncomfortable singing about WonderBaby's vagina (vulva!), and wondered whether that was weird of me, and wondered further how other parents went about referring to the nether regions of their children.

So what did I learn? Well, the first lesson, for me, was that there are some good reasons for overcoming one's prissiness regarding language and keeping to the correct terminology when talking or singing about The Parts with one's children. There's the obvious, educational reason: children should learn the correct terms for things. I was concerned that insisting upon preciseness in the language used to refer to genitalia in bathtime songs would put me over the pedantic edge (over which, my very small collective of regular readers will know, I already regularly dangle. Or - fine - fall over entirely.) But if the Cool Moms are doing it, well, hell, so will I.

But Sunshine Scribe provided another, very important reason:

The reason I don't call his penis a peepee or something cute is not because I want to be "correct" but because I have read and been told by a practioner in the field that using anatomically correct instead of "funny" terms is a molestation-proofing strategy… The idea is that if they understand that it isn't a silly part that has a funny name and they can correctly identify it then it is less likely someone can talk them into a funny game with their funny-named part and also that they'll be able to articulate themselves better when you are explaining how to handle those situations.

Her comment speaks for itself. That, my friends, is more than enough reason for me to overcome petty prissiness and start singing songs about vaginas (vulvas!) rather than tooties and woo-hoos and va-jay-jays. So - vulva it is.

But there were a few more lessons for me here, beyond Why You Should Use Proper Names for Certain Body Parts and It's Called a Vulva, Stupid.

The first lesson: that however much I might like to say that I was being prissy about it because I wanted to avoid being pedantic, or that, yes, my reluctance to use the term was pure prissiness but that my prissiness is not a function of Bigger Issues, neither of these statements is truthful. I do have - have long had - issues about the/my body and the sexuality thereof. And however much I might protest that I don't want to impose such issues upon my daughter, that hasn't stopped me from letting those issues inform - already - how I communicate with my daughter.

Bear with me here; I'm coming to a point.

Sky said this: When you think about baby talk, you think about sweet songs, butterflies, teddy bears, cute toes and knees and not "anatomy class". Do you tell your baby "now I am going to wash your abdominal region". No, you say belly. You try to be cute...

When I read this, my immediate thought was YES. But the thought that immediately followed was WHY?

Obviously, babies are the very definition of cute. And it is also, obviously, a truism that one usually associates one's own baby with All That is Cute, whatever cute means to you. I myself draw the cute line well distant of treacly Winnie-the-Pooh gear, choosing instead to identify cute with things like Mutha Sucka t-shirts, but still. WonderBaby, for me, is all sweet, sweet innocence and light. Maybe with a few bows in her quiver - and yes, she's packing a quiver - but all-in-all, She Is Love and Love Is Sweet.

And that's all well and good, but really? In the real world, love is not all sweet and good. Love bears arms. And the world is, and people are, messy and messed up and not reliably good at all. I want to protect my daughter from this. I want to preserve her innocence as long as possible. I want the world, for her, to be all sweet songs and butterflies for as long as it can be that. But I also want her to be prepared for the world that is not that.

And I don't know that I serve that end by neutering her. She is not a sexless Cherub (however much I might want her to be.) (And, for the record, Renaissance Cherubim are not sexless. They have Parts.) She's a future woman. And she's got the parts (and the attitude, I might add) to prove it.

Maybe I wouldn't have the issues around sexuality that I do if I hadn't gone forward into puberty and, later, into adulthood thinking that my Part was, or should be, a Barbie-like mound of tidy, neutered tootyness. Maybe my first period wouldn't have felt so shameful, or my first sexual experience so painfully destructive of my sterile ideas about the body and love. Maybe if I'd had a more honest relationship with my body I'd have gone out into the world a more powerful woman, and less a prudish romantic with a Barbie complex. And maybe then I'd have fewer issues. And be better able to preserve my daughter from same.

I want my daughter to be powerful. Now, during her babyhood, is not, I know, the time to be stressing about that. Now is a time for innocence and sweet songs and butterflies. But I do want to lay the right groundwork. And there's no wrong time for that. So - viva la vulva!

There was something else... Oh yeah: the second lesson. Which is: mommybloggers are entirely responsible for the first, epiphanal lesson. Which is huge. HUGE. The wisdom and role-modeling and opportunities for self-reflection that you all provide are invaluable: today's lesson confirms that absolutely. So, thank you for that.

And thank you all from refraining from pointing out that I am, indeed, a vulvaphobe with freaky sex issues. I'm very grateful that you all, instead, inspired me to come to that conclusion myself.