Barbie Talks Anatomy

We’re cruisin’ in my Jeep—sorry, the “Barbie Jeep,” according to Sis—when she lets one rip. No warning, no shame. Just a confident little fart from the car seat and a half-second giggle. Loud enough that somewhere, Barbie probably flipped her sunglasses and yelled “Damn, girl!”

Then, without missing a beat—like she’s recapping her grocery list—Sis says:

“I tooted. And it tickled my vulva.”

I froze. Fully shell-shocked. Not because she was wrong—she’s absolutely right. That shit happens. Ask any auntie in bike shorts who’s sneezed wrong in public. I froze because she said it like it was just another moment in her Barbie Jeep itinerary: “Had a snack, got a breeze, toot tickled my vulva.”

I didn’t laugh. Okay, I did. But not at her. I laughed because I’m a dork and the word “vulva” still hits me like a dodgeball to the face. I grew up in a world where you couldn’t even say “butt” without someone gasping like you kicked a priest. Everything was “down there” or whispered like it would summon demons.

But Sis? Sis has been properly briefed. Her parents are both in the medical field—they know anatomy, and they’re not afraid of it. No cutesy nicknames. No confusing metaphors. They taught her the real words from the start. So now I’ve got a toddler with a fully loaded vocabulary strapped into her car seat behind me, giving full-body status updates like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Meanwhile, Bubs is in the back vibing to his playlist like this isn’t a full-on anatomical TED Talk in motion. Doesn’t even flinch.

And me? I’m gripping the steering wheel like I’m piloting a biology bus through suburbia, trying not to cackle so hard I hit a mailbox. Because this is just… normal now.

I grew up afraid to say the names of my own body parts. Sis is out here educating the entire block from the back seat with a fart and a fun fact.

So yeah. If you’re wondering how my day’s going:

Sis farted and casually redefined health class on the way to Target.

Just another Tuesday in the Barbie Jeep.