the Biscuit: What's that, mom?
me: Those are t.rex's boy parts.
the Biscuit: What's it for?
me: Tinkling and stuff.
the Biscuit: And pooping?
me: Um, no. That's what bottoms are for.
the Biscuit: Wow, mom, he *really* likes grabbing that thing!
me: t.rex, did you find your li'l ol' peeper?
the Biscuit: Yeah! He found his peeper! (singsong) He-found-his-peeper! He-found-his-peeper!
Do you like that ol' peeper, little brother, little buddy? He's grabbin' it, grabbin' that peeper. Peeper-peeper-peeper! Do ya like it?
t.rex: (huge smile, tugging on bits) CKCKCKCKCK!
me: Yeah, I think he does.
the Biscuit: Do I have a peeper?
me: Assuredly not. You have girl parts.
the Biscuit: Yeah, that's why I have to wear my Princess Tiana underpants.
the Biscuit: But daddy has a peeper.
me: Well, buddy, that's personal. We don't really talk about that.
the Biscuit: Does daddy like his peeper, too?
me: I'm sure he's glad to have it.
the Biscuit: Will I have a peeper when I grow up?
me: Not without a lot of expensive surgery.
the Biscuit: Huh? Like surgery on daddy's leg?
me: No, buddy, I was just being funny. Would you like some cantaloupe?
the Biscuit: Naw, I just wanna sing about Baby Brudder's peeper.
A child's mind is a fertile, fertile place. I'm not going to tell her proper nouns until she learns to show some discretion.
I just don't want to talk about vulvas in the check-out line at Target.