My Daddy MD

My husband insists the children refer to male body parts using anatomically correct terminology. Although I am fine with it, it is still sometimes mildly shocking to hear them use the word in common conversation. A couple of weeks ago, one of my children had outpatient urological surgery. Between that experience, recent potty training and being three years old, there is a lot of body part chatter around here these days.

A few days ago P was talking about how "stwong an' ca-wa-geous" he was. K jumped on board and added that she was strong and courageous, too.
"No, K, you have to have surge-a-wee to be stwong and ca-wa-geous."
"But, P, I don't have a pee----!"

Apparently her wheels have been turning since then. This morning, K walked into the hall carrying a baby doll and said, "This is my baby. I had her in my tummy. Then I had some surge-ga-wee to get her out."
Me: "Yes, sometimes Mommies have surgery to get babies out."
K: "My baby had surge-ga-wee too."
Me: "Oh?"
K: "Yes, she couldn't tee tee stwaight, so she had some surge-a-wee on her bottom. Now she is a lid-dle wob-ul-lee. Next week she will all better. She was vew-wee bwave for the doctors and her shots."

I guess this is what happens when Daddy is in medicine. I often wonder when the children will understand what he does at work. I can't quite figure out how to gently explain that he cuts people open in order to help them. I definitely don't want them trying that at home!

For quite some time they thought he drove an ambulance because when we would see one rushing by I would comment on the sick people going to see Daddy. When I finally explained clearly to them that Daddy did not drive or ride on the ambulance, they lost a lot of interest in his work.

For the past several weeks, K's evening prayers have included thanking God for her "sweet Daddy and all da sick people he helps get better." I cannot help but peek at my husband's grinning face each time she says it.

He is on call this weekend, so this afternoon during a break between cases, he met us for lunch and a trip to the grocery store. He was in scrubs, which is uncommon because hates going out in public wearing them. As he walked away from the cash register to start taking some groceries to the car, our favorite cashier, Carol, asked P, "What does your Daddy do?"
P looked right back at her and said flatly, "He pushes our carts."