Today I took Small Fry to our 19th century apothecary-styled pharmacy around the corner from our apartment. She woke up from her nap with a fire-engine red front and bottom. She needed diaper rash cream fast. 

As we walked into the pharmacy, she shouted, “Moi have coochie boo boo, Monsieur!”

Pharmacist: Ah bon? Tu as un bo-bo? Ma pauvre. (Oh really? You have a boo boo? Poor thing.)

Small Fry: Oui, moi have coochie boo boo!

Pharmacist: C’est quoi une coochie? (What’s a coochie?)

Small Fry: Coochie boo boo!

(Oh man, Small Fry mush have picked up on it when I said “Oh, look at your poor little coochie!” without thinking! Gotta wash my mouth out with Mustela.)

La Mom: It must be 2 year old talk. I have no idea what she’s trying to say (as I struggle to keep a straight face.)