So last night, spouse and I laughed until our sides hurt. And then laughed some more. We had taken Peanut (who is 5) and her little best friend to a baseball game. They were both beyond excited to find and see the mascot. When they finally spied it, Spouse asked the girls if they thought it was a boy or a girl. The little friend immediately says “boy”. Spouse quickly follows up with “how do you know?” At which point, with perfect timing, my Peanut yells “I see his balls!”

There was a moment of horror. A moment of wondering who I got to kill for imparting that kind of knowledge to my daughter the newly minted kindergartner. And then, I started to breathe again as I heard the girls chatter excitedly about hoping they could catch one of the mascot’s balls . . . and it sunk in that my daughter had not been really engaged in the conversation my spouse started and had in fact been searching for evidence that the mascot was carrying baseballs that it would then give away to fans, usually smaller children.

I caught my Spouse’s eye and we burst out laughing. I don’t know if we laughed so hard because it was damn funny or if we laughed so hard because we were relieved that she did not in fact make reference to a male’s balls.

Yes. That’s my girl.