Monday 12 July, 7.25pm

Although I am trying to wrap up the adventures of The Naughtiest Ever Fairy so that I can get Archie and Lewis to sleep I’m distracted when Lewis refers to the fairy as a ‘him’ and because he still struggles a little with the whole she/he and him/her thing I decide that I have be consistent in pointing out the difference.

‘The Fairy is a girl, Lewy, so you say her. Girls are her. Boys are him. Girls and boys are different…’

Lewis nods as Archie asks, ‘Why are they different?’

‘… well, there’s the Y Chromosome and the X chromo…’ I begin, before it occurs to me that with three boys in the house and no girls Reservoir Mum is the only physical example of the differences between men and women and I have a flashback to Archie’s desperate search to find Mummy’s willy when he was only two-years-old. Without needing to explain it to a two-year-old I told him, at the time, that Mummy was deformed and put the discussion away for a later date. The date has finally arrived.

‘What do you have between your legs, Arch?’ I say.

‘Undies,’ he says.

‘What’s inside your undies?’

‘A willy?’

‘Yep,’ I say, ‘And what does a girl have between her legs?’

‘Vines?’ he says. I’m surprised to hear that Archie has at least the first letter correct. Some outside (probably school ground) tutoring as been going on.

‘What? That would be gross,’ I say, as I get an image of Sigourney Weaver crossed with The Predator. I decide to give him a couple of syllable head-start.

‘Vagi…’ I say, ‘Vaagiii…’

‘Vagines?’ he says.

‘No, vagina.’

‘Vagina!’ he screams, punching a fist in the air.

Thursday 16 July, 7.45am

Reservoir Mum is in the process of getting ready for work and is only semi-dressed and as I walk past the open bathroom door I overhear a conversation between her and Archie.

‘What’s that called again?’ Archie asks.

‘A vagina,’ Reservoir Mum says.

There is a pause before I hear Archie yell vagina! with the same gusto he did on Monday night and what strikes me, apart from the fact that Archie’s sex education has well and truly begun, is that although I have been conditioned over time to keep the joyous scream appropriately hidden, my response to the word vagina is comparable to that a five-year-old boys… in fact pretty much the same.