well now, if THAT ain't taking after his father

I'm a proponent of teaching kids the proper names for things. Blake knows he has a penis, and that's about it right now. The word "testicles" is just to big for him to remember, and the only girl body parts he remembers are "boobs."

I find a three-year-old saying "boobs" unnerving, but "breasts" just sounds icky. I'm trying to encourage him to call them "ta-tas" - and the reason this is all an issue is because he is in a curious phase. As in: "Mom? Can I see your boobs?" The answer is no, those are private, but you may look at your own. Except that he's been told boys don't have "boobs," they have "nipples" (thanks, Pete!).

Argh. I think I might err on the side of clinical accuracy and defer to "breasts," especially after this exchange:

A: You have some mosquito bites, so I'm going to put this salve on - it keeps them from itching.
B: Here's one. (pointing to a mole)
A: Nope, honey, that's just a mole. They don't itch.
B: Do you know what moles look like?
A: Um, freckles. They are like freckles.
B: Nope. They look like nipples.

After telling a friend (who shall remain anonymous to protect the innocent) about the above, she shared the following two stories of her nephews:

D, at age two, while the well-endowed check-out lady at the supermarket was reaching for the groceries to scan, reached across and latched onto her boobs. She screamed and pulled back, and he held his grip and went with her, right out of the cart. She screamed more, and his mother, M, was so horrified she could not move until the manager arrived and began to attempt to pry young D from the woman. Poor woman had to go on break after that, and M never shopped there again.

N, in a restaurant with his whole family and a group of us adults, leaves the table (with about all of us watching him, cause he's not quite four) and walks up to a well-endowed brunette who's just sat down, alone, at a table near us. He plops himself in the chair next to her and, I can still hardly believe I say this from a child, says to her coyly, "Hi. I'm N." He then looks right at her breasts, then back at her. In the meantime, all conversation with adults has stopped at our table as we stare at N and this woman, our mouths agape. And the woman clearly had no idea how to take being hit on by a child. I just remember A, N's mom suddenly being there next to him, deep red face, saying "N! Come here this instant!"

I guess they come by it honest.