Cross Your Fingers For Me

Tomorrow, we head to Florida. And no, that's not why I need you to cross your fingers. We actually have three adults flying down with two wee ones, so it won't be too bad. Traveling with my parents makes things so much easier.

No, I'm worried about what Little Miss might do.

I was worried about this with Mister Man on a previous flight, but fortunately my worries were for naught. Little Miss, on the other hand, likes to try to do things that are slightly naughty but not quite enough to really get her in trouble.

She's learned body parts.

And who has which ones.

We regularly have conversations around how Mommy has a vag1na and Daddy has a pen1s. Yes, we use the proper words because I don't want her to not be able to use them when she's older, and I want both of them to be comfortable with their bodies.

Unfortunately, those conversations don't stay just about Mommy and Daddy. When my parents are over for dinner, Little Miss will sometimes ask my dad if he also has a pen1s because he's a boy. Picture a conservative 64 year old who didn't exactly spend a ton of time parenting when his own daughters were young. Now picture him turning beet red and spluttering at the question.

Personally, I think it's sort of funny.

It isn't quite as funny when we're out in public and she asks me (thankfully, knock on wood, not anyone else yet) if a certain person has a pen1s or a vag1na. And I tell her. And then I explain that this isn't a polite conversation to have in a public place. The first part sticks with her, but the second part ... not so much.

But I have this nightmare where Little Miss walks down the aisle of the aircraft as I'm loaded down with bags and unable to grab her or discreetly shush her.

She walks down the aisle and looks to her left. Vag1na, she announces as she points to the woman in the seat. To her right, she spots a dad with his son. Pen1s and pen1s, she proudly crows. On and on, all the way to the back of the airport she continues her dissection of gender and anatomy. She is blithely unaware of the chaos she's leaving in her wake.

Unaware, that is, until she gets to the man, or is it a woman, with short hair and nondescript featres. Uh-oh. She stops and stares at this poor person. Finally, her eyes light up. You, she announces in her oh-so-sweet way that only she can, are a boy. You have a pen1s. And she skips merrily forward.

The man with the subtle eyeliner and lipgloss that I can now see as he, I mean she, narrows her eyes, is none to pleased. She glares as me as I blush, stammering apologies, before I drop my items and scoop up Little Miss with my hand wrapped around her mouth, hushing her.

The damage is done, however, and I can hear the giggles from around me, and the thumping of feet coming behind me. Fortunately, I usually wake up at this point, drenched in a cold sweat, dreading setting foot on this airplane.

If you don't hear from me again, it's because I was pummeled to bits by the nice lady my daughter thought was a man.

PS I do have scheduled posts and expect to have wireless access in the hotel, so I should still be around. If not, I'll be back on the 30th! Wish me luck at Disney!