Morgan has a cold, so she came home early and spent the remainder of the day lounging on the couch in her pajamas, sipping tea, and thumbing through books.  The child simply refused to nap.  I figured that when bed time came, I’d draw her a nice warm bath, fill her up with some warm milk, top her off with some ‘tussin and tuck her in tight.

Our after-bath routine consisted of slicking her and Coever down with some lotion, followed by a healthy slathering of Vick’s VapoRub on their chests and soles of their feet.  FYI — apparently, putting the vapo on the the bottoms of your feet and covering them with socks helps reduce, if not eliminate, coughing during the night.  I’d have to say the success rate on that is about 60-40, but we keep trying.

I get Morgan squared away and turn my attention to Coever, who is happily dancing naked on her bed.  I stick my fingers in the Vapo and begin to apply it to her little bird chest, when she declares, “It smells vagina-mated!” She twists up her face as I rub circles into her skin.

“What?”

“Vagina-mated!” she says again, and her tone is a chock full of  “duh”!

“Um,” Am I really going down this road? Yep.  “Coever, what does that mean?” I ask, slipping her night shirt over her head.

“It means your hands smell!” And she and Morgan break out into peals of laughter so rollicking, I really think I’ve walked into a set-up. 

I’m just counting my lucky stars that she stopped with the word “smell” and left off any type of examples.  I don’t think my heart could take it.