What has two lips, responds to external stimulation, and needs to be in the room with you every time you pee? Your toddler! Also, your vagina. "17 Ways My Vagina Acts Like a Toddler." LOL!

17 Ways My Vagina Acts Like a Toddler

Mamas, I’ve got a joke for you: what has two lips, responds to external stimulation, and needs to be in the room with you every time you pee?

Your toddler.

Also, your vagina.

All right—it’s not so much a “joke” as it is a rather revolting truth.

After three years of simultaneously caring for both my children and the lady garden from which they blossomed, I’ve noticed that my vagina acts a lot like my toddlers.

What has two lips, responds to external stimulation, and needs to be in the room with you every time you pee? Your toddler! Also, your vagina. "17 Ways My Vagina Acts Like a Toddler." LOL! vagina humor

No, you didn’t read that incorrectly. I’m not saying my toddlers act like little twats (although I’m not saying they don’t, either). What I’m saying is my little twat—my lady bits, my hoo-ha, my cave of wonders, my Princess Peach—sometimes acts like my toddlers.

Because life’s just funny* that way.

*Not funny at all. It’s actually super gross and slightly disturbing.

Here are seventeen examples of how my vajayjay can act like one of my three-year-olds:

1. When it makes weird noises. Sometimes it’s an odd little squeak, and other times it’s a low grumble, reminiscent of the rumbly in Pooh Bear’s honey-craving tumbly. (It does need a little sugar every now and then, amirite?)

RELATED: The Verbose Vagina

2. Or, more specifically, when it farts. I still marvel—and cringe—at the fact that such a loud, disgusting noise can escape something so small.

3. When it’s so cute that I catch myself referring to it by food-related nicknames. Me, to my toddler: “Hey, Gummy Bear. Please stop kicking Mama in her muffin.”

4. When it leaks random liquids. Whether those liquids are nasal mucus and cherry Tylenol, or cervicalmucus and Aunt Flo’s version of cherry Tylenol, I think we can all agree it’s pretty disgusting.

5. When it needs to wear a diaper. Diapers of any kind are fucking expensive, and the generic ones rub me the wrong way. Literally.

6. When it needs its diaper changed. Which I have to do more frequently if I don’t spring for the name-brand kind. Even the ones that claim “maximum absorbency” need to be changed on the reg. We don’t want anyone getting a rash down there.

7. When it gets a little too hairy, and random family members take it upon themselves to let me know it “looks like it could use a trim.” (I guess I should stick to skirted bathing suits.)

8. When it needs a thorough cleaning, but I’m feeling lazy. Baby wipe baths FTW.

And on a related note:

9. When it smells funky. Sometimes the baby wipes just don’t cut it.

10. When it gets sick. #sneezingtoddlerssuck #sodoyeastinfections

11. When it clenches up and/or squirms around because someone’s trying to stick a cotton swab in it. I friggin’ hate pap smears. And cleaning my kids’ ears.

RELATED: An Open Hate Poem to the Speculum

12. When it gets excited because Daddy’s coming* home. We’re all just SO HAPPY to see Daddy.


13. When it drives me so crazy that I have to ask my husband to take care of it so I can fucking relax for a night. Because sometimes I really just need to lay back and put my feet up.

Which brings me to:

14. When it does the “Hot Dog Dance.” Yay for sexual euphemisms. And wieners. And Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, which distracts the kids while Daddy and I perform our own interpretation of that lobotomized mouse’s signature dance number.

15. When it prompts me to yell, “Yes, yes! Keep going!” because it’s really close to achieving something great. Like, um, making two Legos fit together the way they’re supposed to.

On the flip side:

16. When it frustrates me because nothing I do—or Daddy does—can make it happy. It’s like, I know something’s off, but I just can’t put my finger on it.

17. When I consider buying expensive toys to make it happy. These usually require batteries. Yay for “V”-Tech*.

*Wink, wink.

So there you have it, fellow mamas: proof that having a vagina is kind of like having an extra toddler around. Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s frustrating and exhausting, and sometimes it’s incredibly rewarding.

Motherhood and vagina-hood: you get what you put into them*.


This original piece by Samantha Wassel was written exclusively for In the Powder Rooma division of Hold My Purse Productions, LLC. Featured images © oksun70 and © Kobyakov via depositphotos.com.

For a good time, connect with us on FacebookTwitter, and Pinterest!

Samantha Wassel is a Stay-At-Home Mama to the cutest twin toddlers in the history of all Toddlerdom. When she’s not running her borderline-offensive mouth, she’s running masochistically long distances, often with the aforementioned toddlers in tow. She enjoys reading, writing, baking, marathoning, complaining, photographing, playgrounding, and Ghirardelli Midnight Reverie chocolate bars. She has been featured on Scary Mommy, Bluntmoms, and Mamalode. Follow her on Facebook, and check out her personal blog at betweenthemonkeybars.com.

Keep the conversation going...