Parenting 101: Thou Shalt Not Show Your Toddler Porn on Google

When I was pregnant with our second child (our son who turned out to be our daughter. Yes you know the story. I made sure of that here), my husband went to Amsterdam on business. He came home with a blue bunny as a gift for our unborn child. It’s not the prettiest toy. Weird cross-stitch mouth, small button eyes and not very cuddly. But it’s a national treasure in Amsterdam and he figured there must be some reason that scores of Dutch kids flock to own one. And yes, as he has told me many times, it’s not all about looks. Ugliness aside, it’s still not my favourite toy. I also find it a little creepy. Goes without saying then that my daughter loves it. This bunny goes everywhere with her. Even across a continent. She’s inventively named it “Baba”. I have tried to get her to re-name the thing. I creatively suggested “Bunny”. I’ve even pushed the boat out and suggested “Blue Bunny.” It remains Baba. She sees stubborn and she raises it. Every time.

Last week I sat her on my lap and explained that we were going to see Baba on the computer. I opened Google images and typed “Milfy” into the search bar. Milfy is the brand name of this toy bunny. What greeted us were definitely not images of blue bunnies. Not a bunny in sight *unless that’s your code name for something of an entirely different nature. We were assaulted by pornographic images of women and their bits. I slammed my laptop shut. My daughter remained nonplussed after her first pornographic exposure at the tender age of two years and four months. She simply cuddled Baba closer to her chest. I refused to be beaten. I also know a thing or two about stubborn. I figured there had to be some mistake. I re-opened my computer and tried another search term in Google images. I typed: “Milfy Bunny Toy”. It took a few seconds before the entire screen was flooded with worse porn. With accessories. Blue bunny ones. It was then that my little girl, ever the know-it-all said to me all big eyed and earnest, “Mummy I told you her name was Baba”. I agreed with her and left it at that.

A couple of days later I told my husband what had happened. He said, “Sal the toy’s name is Miffy. Not Milfy. A milf is….well you know what a milf is. American Pie is one of your favourite movies. You pretend it’s not. But we all know the truth.” He then laughed his head off. And I poured myself another glass of wine.

And so, I can now chalk up another ‘bad mommy’ moment on my parenting record. I can now add. “I showed my daughter porn. Twice”. This in addition to other egregious no-no’s like using chocolate as bribery, giving in to tantrums and allowing them to go to bed without brushing their teeth when I’m too tired to wrestle the little buggers - and they know it. This responsible motherhood thing is for the bloody birds. And the bunnies too it seems.

I’ve also come to the not-so earth-shattering realisation that Dr Google, my once dear and trusted friend and the oracle of all my knowledge (with regards health symptoms, parenting and pretty much everything in between) needs to clear his house of some seriously milfy material. As they say on Grey’s Anatomy where naturally all good mothers go for their surgical knowledge and a much-needed emotional release… Stat. If we can't trust Google to show us the way as we fumble our way in the dark along this journey called parenthood - however will we cope? Who will guide us? Hang on. Let me Google it...

Baba enjoying a spot of nature.

Baba on Google - as nature intended.