What began as a simple naming game has turned into a bra fetish for Gracie. She likes to point at objects and have us tell her what they’re called: “This?” “Scarf.” “This?” “Printer.” Etc… One day I was getting dressed and she pointed at my bra. “This?”
“Bra,” I said.
“Bra-wa,” she repeated carefully.
Now she is hooked on bras. She tries to dig into my shirt if I’m holding her. “Bra-wa! Bra-wa!” She goes into my dresser drawer and pulls them out. “Bra-wa!” She asks who has a bra: “Daddy bra-wa?” “No, Daddy doesn’t have a bra.” “Grammy bra-wa?” “E-E (Ethan) bra-wa?”
We went to the YMCA for swimming lessons. She seems to have some trouble differentiating between girl’s swimsuits and bras because to her it was like one big, wonderful Bra-Fest. She pointed excitedly at every female in a swimming suit, even if they were only two years old. “This girl bra-wa! This girl bra-wa!” “Are you saying water?” Randy’s mom asks. “I think she’s saying water. She knows they’re going swimming!”
“Not wa-wa. Bra-wa!”
“Listen to that! She knows they’re going swimming. Smart girl.”
No need to correct her.
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