Okay, so anyone who parents boys knows that boys, in ways unlike girls, come equipped with their own ways of entertaining themselves. You know, like taking apart the toaster oven, or shaving the dog bald, or playing with one’s genitals.
I’ll never forget the time I took my oldest son to his 6 month check up and during the hip rotation, diaper check part, my son demonstrated his dexterity at manipulation, if you follow me. His pediatrician dead-panned, “Yeah, he’s healthy. He’ll be doing that for the next 80 years.” That was an eye-opening moment in my early parenting experience.
Now there are two boys living in my house but since one refuses to potty-train, not all of the penis-angst coming to my future world has arrived yet. However, apparently some of it has. Last night, I sit my freshly bathed sweet little angel on the stool in the bathroom while I went to his bedroom for a fresh diaper and jammies. I come back and realize that my sweet little angel has found his penis but is apparently confused. One tiny hand is manipulating the poor appendage like the joy-stick to a PacMan game. I’m no expert, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be abused like that.
My reaction, this many years into the parenting experience? “Careful with that, you’ll want it to still work in a few years.”