You’re talking out of your front bottom

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This is not a new topic I know.  The age old “what shall we call the lady bits when we discuss them with our daughters?” question.

We know it’s important to get it right to protect them in situations I don’t even want to think about (see the NSPCC’s Underwear rule ) but why is it so hard to get it right at home?  So it’s not cringey and awkward, so we don’t scar them for life, so they don’t mock our parenting skills in 2027, so we CAN talk about stuff if we need to.

Willy is just so perfect for boys. Not sexual. Not dated. Not offensive. Just fine.

But for girls there is nothing of the same ilk.  All the options are just so, well, Benny Hill.

Fanny. No. Just no. Too 70s.

Foof. What?

Nunny. Too TOWIE.

Mimi. My friend has a cat called Mimi.  I actually have a friend called Mimi.

Minnie. MOUSE.

Cookie. Yuk. Really? *Giggles every time the biscuit tin goes round*

Daisy.  We pick daisies.

Flower. Flowers ARE FLOWERS.

Ha’penny.  Is it 1882?

Vagina. Weirdly too technical. And too open to error. Badge-ina and Old China have both been reported by friends.  Plus, as my mother kindly pointed out, the vagina is the hole not the labia.

C*nt. Hmmm. That would go down well with Nana/ Nursery/ The Doctor/ Everyone Ever.

No. No. NO.

The Swedes are clever (at everything. I heart Saga Noren and her cashmere-leather-face-pulling-funny-walks-out-of-shot-on-the-spectrum-porsche-combo more than you will ever understand) and came up with a new word for it.

Snippa made the Swedish dictionary back in 2006 after being promoted in Malmo schools and nurseries by a social worker back in 2000. The male equivalent is Snopp.

Snippa and Snopp. It just works. A nice wholesome little pairing.

Knowing that my 3 year old doesn’t have the same Scandi-lust as I do, I thought I would just have the conversation with her and see what would stick.

We currently use front-bottom which my Mum always used with me but I find it clunky (not my front bottom, you understand, though admittedly it has changed since birth) and a bit confusing.

I gave her a few polite options from the list above.

She vetoed the lot.

“No Mummy,”

Long.  Pause.

“I want to call it Mrs Yellow.”

So there we have it.

And that’s why I’m on here.

I’d had an idea for this blog, but needed a name.

Mrs Yellow was born.

I am plucking up the courage to enquire about the whereabouts of Mr Brown.

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