Words: Anatomical Euphemisms Considered

As a mother of a little girl, I am more interested in this question that I was in the case of my son. You see, the naming of anatomy is not nearly as sensitive an issue with males as it seems to be with females. I have heard this debate from many different angles--from Irigaray to the sex-positive internet message boards I belonged to in a former life. I am less acquainted with it from the child-rearing book perspective, as I haven't ever really delved into that genre. As the big sister of 5 siblings, I never saw much need for parenting self-help books and the like. I just wing it! But let's face it, there is a wide-ranging debate over what to call female genitalia, and it is not limited to babies and children. My personal feeling is that medical terms in the mouths of children sound ugly and inappropriate--I mean, would you want your son or daughter talking about his or her anus? I doubt it. So then why is "penis" more appropriate? I am reminded of that rather awful film starring the governor of California, Kindergarten Cop, in which the son of a gynecologist informs Arnold that "boys have a penis and girls have a vagina." The humor in this scene was in the gross impropriety of both timing of the declaration and the sound of the terms "from the mouths of babes," as it were.

Since I am really thinking about female anatomy, I will say that I have particular problems with the term "vagina." Not with the term "vaginal," but with the term "vagina." I take issues with the Vagina Monologues, for example, because it uses the term "vagina" to apply not just to what we actually recognize as the vagina, but also the surrounding area, so to speak. Irigaray's "two lips" (terminology that I rather like from a theoretical perspective, though it's not quite a practical term to teach a child) are included, as well as what I might as well, being pregnant, refer to as the "birth canal"--and I just won't go beyond that description. More accurately, the part of the anatomy that a young child would actually see and feel--and thus, of which the child would be aware any real sense, as the uses for these parts are quite specific and limited compared to those of a feminist theorist, for example--is called, in medical terms, the "vulva" rather than the "vagina." So for reasons of accuracy in addition to plain issues of delicacy of language, I will not teach my daughter the term "vagina" until we get to "that" talk (blissfully years and years in the future--for the son, not so distant. . .). I do not particularly prefer "vulva." The word has its instinctive appeal as a word--it has a round, full quality about it that actually makes a fitting signifier for the part signified (not meaning to shock any sensibilities, and not meaning to offend Saussure or Derrida or any of their devotees). But it does not seem any more appealing to say to a child, "Okay, let me wash your vulva now!" No, that's not going to happen.

On the aforementioned sex-happy somewhat feminist (in some sense of the word) discussion board, I remember (from years ago now) a discussion in which certain women felt somehow "cheated" by their mothers' and perhaps grandmothers' reluctance to call certain parts what they were. What they mentioned in particular was the substitution of bodily function words for the parts from which the fluids were excreted. I admit to allowing this with my son. It's not something I cultivated, it just happened naturally. Somehow, though, I think my husband and I felt the need, even in the naming of these parts (or maybe especially?), to distinguish between the genders. I will add that the term that my family used for female genitalia (in the bathtub setting) is not one I could spell. It's a little embarrassing for me to pronounce, even to myself, because I know that it is not an actual word in English. I say "in English" because I suspect that the word was a corruption of some French baby-talk or something, as my grandmother grew up speaking French (in "the country" in Louisiana, as we called it, quite a bit outside of Lafayette). So clearly that word is out.

What we have settled on instead is rather accurate in my view, clearly a euphemism, but kind of endearing also. We call them (and I use the plural, in a subconscious nod to Irigaray) "baby girl parts." I suppose someday they will be "little girl parts," and finally, "girl parts." This suits my son, also, who has not asked about "real" names, as he did for his own "parts" a while back. I feel like this is accurate because they are, indeed, "girl parts" in a couple of different senses--they are "parts of a girl," and they are also "the parts by which a girl is identified as a girl," at least at birth. I know this raises all kinds of feminist red (or essentialist) flags, but it doesn't particularly concern me. When my daughter was born, they told me, "it's a girl," not "she is anatomically female, but her gender has not yet been socially constructed." The same, I think, when the ultrasound tech tells the expectant parents that they have the go-ahead to buy the pink stuff. Most importantly, "let's wash the baby girl parts" works just fine for me!

Because Terminology Matters

I stumbled across a phrase today that I like. Instead of having an "unplanned pregnancy," I find myself "unexpectedly pregnant." I like this distinction for a couple of reasons:

1. It avoids the politically-charged term "unplanned": If a pregnancy is "unplanned," than one should have gone to "Planned Parenthood," no?

2. The word "pregnancy" is a noun, a thing, something that one "has" that is distinctly separate from one's being. Therefore, there is a certain amount of theoretical distance implied. The pregnancy is, in fact, an "Other," a "not-self," and may be treated as such, to achieve distance until one is ready to "deal with" the emotional implications of the "thing." (Here, the "pregnancy" is the "thing," not the baby, which does not yet need to be considered in this linguistic construct.)

3. The word "pregnant," by contrast, is an adjective--it implies a state of being, in fact, a temporary state of being, something that will not last forever. Because it is a state of being, it is connected to the person who is being modified by the term, "pregnant": I am pregnant. You are pregnant. I was pregnant two years ago. I am pregnant for my third child. When I was pregnant for my first, I was 19. . .

4. The word "unplanned" is negative. It suggests negligence--literally, a "failure to plan."

5. By contrast, "unexpected" things can be good. Or interesting. Like "An Unexpected Party," for example. "Unexpected" things can yield an adventure.

Maybe we should use the term more often. Maybe it'll catch on.