I can only imagine the traffic this post is going to generate. You’ll see why in a moment.
Things have been so dismal on my blog (and in my life) lately, that I thought I would share an amusing anecdote about my son, something that will surely embarrass him when he stumbles across this blog when he’s fifteen. I just can’t help it.
Something that people warned us about when I learned I was pregnant with a boy was that he was going to get erections. Um, yeah, I know, he’s male, I would reply. But no, they said, he’ll get them early and often, and you’re going to be surprised. I laughed, and J and I prepared ourselves for the occasional baby stiffy.
Then our precious baby boy arrived, and within a month or so, we saw our first one. It made us laugh because there was this teeny tiny baby with a teeny tiny erection, and it was just sort of cute. The air during diaper changes must have just caught him the right way, and there it would be. When J and I had discussed the early warnings about this, we always thought it would make us uncomfortable, but instead, just like everything else about our new son, it was cute, just another piece of little boy perfection.
Oddly, they went away for awhile–for quite some time really. But then as BG got closer to one and a half and two, they returned, but this time, they seemed more–uh, real. He definitely found it strange and uncomfortable, but if it was wiped during a diaper change, he would smile a smile that no mother wants to see on her toddler. We would simply cover it back up with a diaper and move along.
But then he started talking about it. He learned the word “penis,” and he would tell us, “Penis hurt!” There were a couple of times he cried a little about this, and we would check it to find that it was doing its thing, so we would tell him it would go away if he stopped thinking about it, and we’d cover it back up with his diaper.
It was around this same time that our son became quite a bit more active outside, so he was constantly getting skinned knees, little scrapes, various little “owies” that needed bandaids and kisses. He loved the owie-kissing ritual and would kiss our owies, kiss his own, kiss the cats. We found this appropriately adorable.
One day, our son was getting a diaper change, and when I opened up his diaper, there was his penis erect as can be, and he said, “Mommy, penis hurt!”
“I know son, I know,” I said. He grabbed at it, and I encouraged him to stop touching it. “It will stop hurting in a second. Just leave it alone.”
But he relented, “Mommy, penis hurt!” And then finally, it clicked for him. He knew just what I could do. “Mommy, kiss penis. Penis hurt. Kiss penis. Make penis better.”
I don’t think I have to tell you that this is one owie I would not kiss.