Vagina Monologues & Naked Downward Dog

It was one of those average weekday nights. We’d just finished dinner. The dishes needed to be washed and lunches packed for the next day. I glanced at the relentless clock and knew it’s was time to get my youngest daughter (Chickenhawk) and oldest girl (Ms. Prissy) ready for bed.

“Girls, it’s time for your shower!” I yelled as I ran into the bathroom and turned on the water.

“Get in first,” I shouted to my oldest. “AND USE SOAP!”

I headed back to the kitchen to finish more housework until my oldest strolled in with her pajamas on. The sound of the shower and faint music lingered in the background.

“Is Chickenhawk in now?” I asked.

“No,” my oldest replied.

“CHICKENHAWK, GET IN THE SHOWER!” No reply or the usual follow-up sound of pitter patter down the hallway. I looked over at my husband.

“Can you go see what our youngest is doing?”

He made his way to the room and a few moments later returned. Stiff. Pale. And quiet.

“What’s wrong? ”I asked.

“I am not going back in there,” my husband replied.

“What do you mean? What is she doing?”

My husband just looked me, shook his head, and sat down on the couch, staring off in some sort of trance. As I turned to look for my youngest, I heard him utter “in our room.”

I started to prepare for the worst. Maybe nail polish on my sheets. Markers on my walls. Possibly all of our files all over the floor.

De la Soul’s “Saturday” was blasting from our desktop computer, and there she was. Our little Chickenhawk dressed in her birthday suit in front of our freestanding mirror. She was in a downward dog position bouncing her bottom up and down to the music. She was definitely trying to get the best view of all her goods.

I saw my husband’s vision: clear heels, poles, and his little girl flashed before his eyes. I smiled and shut the door behind me.

“Honey, it’s time for your shower.”

“Mom, where does my pee come out?” she asked with a voice full of curiosity.

“Your pee comes out of your urethra,” I answered and pointed to the general area.

The door burst open and in walks Ms. Prissy.

“What are you doing?” she asked with her face screwed up.

“Looking at my ureeda,” Chickenhawk answered still upside down and bopping to the music.

“Actually, you are looking at your vagina.” I said.

While I had the opportunity, I thought I should take it.

“Girls, you both know that your vagina is one of your private areas. And only you can touch it. Mommy or daddy may have to help you clean your vagina and dirty butts from time to time,” I said with a smile, “but other than that there is never a reason for ANYONE to touch your private areas. And if your dad and I ever are cleaning you and if feels rough or uncomfortable, let us know. And always tell me if anyone else EVER tries or touches you there or anywhere else, and it feels uncomfortable to you.

“Okay,” my youngest answered

“Yeah Mom. We know,” Ms. Prissy said.

Chickenhawk did one last bounce to the music then went into the bathroom.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a second thinking of some comforting words for my husband. As I walked passed the bathroom, through the crack of the door, I saw my youngest straddling the toilet seat trying to see her pee come out, urine running down the side of the toilet onto the floor.

I pretended not to see and went to the couch where my husband was sitting. “You look a little stressed,” I said smiling. “Maybe we should do some yoga.”