Whenever my kids see a medical professional for anything more serious than a sniffle, I am asked questions about their gestation and birth. I can tell right from the way in which the questions are worded whether or not I’m going to enjoy my time with the questioner.

If the doctor/nurse/physiotherapist/whatever wonders if my child’s birth was “vaginal,” I know we’re going to get along just fine. If the health provider wants to know if the process was “natural,” I foresee possible communication problems between us, for a couple of reasons.

Firstly and foremostly, I strongly believe that medical professionals should be comfortable using the proper words for body parts. If I wanted a collection of colloquialisms on human anatomy, I would hang out in my local high school parking lot, I would not make an appointment with a health care provider. When the first OB/GYN I saw for my miscarriage told me he was going to put a suppository “in the back passage,” I knew we would never be friends. Dude, you’re a doctor! If you can’t even say “rectum,” I’m not sure I want you anywhere near mine. Unfortunately, I was in no condition to object at the time.

Secondly, nothing sets my teeth on edge quite like the term “natural childbirth.” The implication in that phrase is that any deviation from a particular norm is somehow unnatural, and that pisses me off.

Both my daughters were born the old-fashioned way: I pushed them out of my vagina all by myself, with no chemicals other than the hormones and adrenaline produced by my body coursing through my system. Bully for me. I’m glad it worked out that way. That is the ideal situation, and it was very natural for me to do it that way. Hooray!

But what about when things are not ideal? Why is it unnatural that human beings have developed tools and techniques that improve people’s physical and mental health?

Is it unnatural that polio and smallpox have been virtually eradicated by vaccinations? Is it unnatural that leprosy can be cured by antibiotics? Is it unnatural that my mother was able to put a year of pain and nausea behind her by having her gall bladder removed? Is it unnatural that when I felt like walking into traffic on a daily basis I took medication and counseling which helped me get past that point in my life? Most people don’t think so.

Why then, is it unnatural that Rowan’s godmother was able to have pain relief during an exhausting labour so she could get enough rest to generate the energy to push her first son out when the time came? Why is it unnatural that Lilah’s godmother had two healthy boys by emergency c-section rather than two still-births?

I believe that pregnancy is not an illness. I believe that ‘as few interventions as possible’ is the best birth plan for both mother and child. But I really get my knickers in a twist that a huge percentage of the population (and of the health care community) would cheerfully describe the very existence of my best friends’ sons as “unnatural.”

I’d like to introduce you to Petunia Pearllong. I’d like to, but I can’t, because I’ve never met her.

Petunia Pearllong is Rowan’s newest imaginary friend.

My kids have a whole host of imaginary playmates. Some time ago, Rowan started continuing relationships with fictional characters beyond the page and screen. Frequently, she befriends the villains of her favourite stories and resolves any lingering conflict at the end of the story. The evil Queen/Sorcerer/Stepmother and the innocent victim work out their problems and become friends with each other, and with my eldest daughter. Her echo of a little sister joins in and plays along, but there is no doubt that Rowan is the instigator in the befriending of people and animals who aren’t really there.

It should be noted that, as far as I can tell, Petunia Pearllong is the first of Rowan’s imaginary friends to whom she was not introduced by book, television program or movie. Petunia Pearllong arrived in Rowan’s head fully formed, a product entirely of her own making.

Since I have no point of reference for this individual, I have asked Rowan about her. She is apparently the most beautiful princess in the land, she wears a light purple dress and has a pink bow in her hair.

We have also discussed Petunia Pearllong’s name. Rowan asked if I shared her opinion that it is the most beautiful name. I could not help but agree, and then I asked if Rowan had made the name up by herself. Rowan was quite indignant when she informed me that, “Petunia Pearllong made her name up herself and then told me about it!”

Defrost one family of four.
Marinate for a week in sandbox season.
Fill Laundry Day with extenuating circumstances causing postponement of cleansing.
Discover on Laundry Day B that detergent is empty.
Replenish detergent at earliest opportunity (9:30 pm).
Before adequate coffee on Laundry Day C, sort and stuff laundry into washer before it reaches critical mass.
Discover one half package of soggy spearmint gum in washer after load #1.
Dispose of gum.
Discover additional piece of spearmint gum in dryer after load #1, now warm and puffed like a toasted marshmallow and bursting from its foil wrapper.
Thank the heavens that unscented detergent was used, so there are no competing scents.
Enjoy!

I have inadvertently created a monster.

Quite by accident, I recently happened upon a turn of phrase that is way more amusing to the preschool and toddler sensibilities than a flatulent person saying, “Excuse me,” and my children are now flat out refusing to excuse themselves when they fart.

Yesterday, Lilah was a gaseous anomaly, and on countless occasions I looked at her with that motherlook and asked, “What do you say?” in that mothertone without receiving the desired response.

Instead, EVERY SINGLE TIME, she said, “NO! LOU say ‘Escooze lou, Tootlepants.’”

And her sister has taken the game to a whole new level.

Recently, Rowan was the one with terrible tooting, and since she wears underpants, I was pretty persistent in asking if she needed to use the toilet. She explained to me in the know-it-all voice perfected by the world-weary three-and-three-quarters-year-old, “Mummy, some farts are for having to go poopy, and some farts are just for silly.” With this expert knowledge, yesterday she repeatedly asked her scented sister, “Do you have to go poopy, Tootlepants?”

Lilah, having absorbed great wisdom from her elders was pleased to respond (all through dinner, I might add), that she was just having silly farts.

I missed some of this dinnertime exchange because of a meeting, but their father was very very proud.