>The Scene: It’s evening. Tony has just finished helping Bear with her pre-bed bathing details. I am cleaning up the living room and kitchen before bed as she comes running in to see me.
Bear: “Mommy, I think I have the pox!”
Me: (Thinking to self, “Chicken or small?” Reference, anyone?) Aloud to Bear, “Where?”
Bear, pointing at chest: “Right here.”
Me: Squinting at the spot she’s pointed out. I look at the spot, then back up into her eyes with my eyes questioning and head tilted as if to say, “Are you kidding me?”
Bear looks down and blushes: “Whoops. That’s my nipple.” Looks around, then points to another non-nipple, non-chickenpox spot on her chest. “There.”
Me, to Bear: “That’s not chickenpox, that’s just a little pimple-like thing. You’re fine. Go get in your jammies.”
Me, to self: “I think I need to go over basic anatomy with her again.”
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