I almost posted another riveting rundown of my past weekend, but I could almost hear the collective sighs from each and every one of you as you began reading the first paragraph, so I crammed it into the drafts folder to
die pull out at a better time.
It did involve golf, a new iPad and my wallet’s contents being on an interstate highway yet again, so your loss!
Like a total douche, I was typing that weekend wrap-up post on my new iPad in public, instead of paying a lick of attention to my boys as they played at this pretty cool train place that’s absolutely free.
I know, right? Gman fucking loves this place! That’s a blueberry syrup stain on his shirt, for you curious people reading this. A woman actually stopped me on my way out of IHOP to tell me that my boys were exceptionally well behaved and that she was impressed with them. Awe, thank you old lady, that was sweet. She must have been in the shitter when Gman was dumping syrup all over everything except his silver dollar pancakes.
It was a Tuesday, so I was the only man here above the age of six, outside of the poor bastard working the register. They have a register because the place sells great wooden toy train tracks, trains and accessories, just like the stuff the kids play with at the train place, as Gman calls it.
It’s the sort of place where soccer moms hang out when they’ve tired of the park and it’s too early for wine. They mostly hang out in clusters and say things like, “Liam, make better choices!” or “Carter, did you push that little girl half your size down and take her train? That’s not nice. Mommy is sad at you now. Please give it back or mommy will have to give you more pills” or “Charlie, mommy won’t buy you a new train if you don’t stop screaming right this instant, 1,2, are you, are you tired? It’s okay everyone, he’s just tired.”
No lady, Charlie is just a fucking brat.
I don’t mind being the only man in such a place, and in fact, I actually enjoy eavesdropping on the conversations of perfect strangers, especially women, because sometimes they talk about fun stuff like…….penises!
I heard the word and immediately perked up. My dirty word radar indicated that it came from the right, so I turned my head and noticed a couple of ladies conversating about said penises just off to my right. Is it peni? Peen? Whatever, they were talking about the one eyed monster, let’s leave it at that.
One of the ladies was clearly due to have a baby any minute now, so I knew that she at least knew what a penis was, amirite!!?
Shut up; I’m totally right.
Sadly, it wasn’t dirty talk at all though.
The woman with child (in her belly) was due to have her first boy, and the other woman had just birthed a boy of her own. From the looks of him, he was maybe nine months old.
The pregnant lady was sort of freaking out to the other one about diaper changing messes and little erections and baths and peeing while standing, and all kinds of crap, all while the other one was nodding in total agreement as if the fears were totally justified. I felt bad for this unborn child since it was pretty obvious that mommy was disappointed that she’d not be buying Barbies and dresses and attending gymnastics or dancing recitals, etc. I mean she still COULD I guess, but my point was she seemed disappointed and scared that she had a baby boy coming into her life.
I started to laugh hysterically inside my head, in part because I’m a dick, but mostly because it brought back some great memories of my own wife yelling from upstairs, “DON!! DONNIE!!! COME HERE, HURRY. PLEASE!!!”
The yelling was almost always while I was in the kitchen cleaning up dinner and she was giving the boys a bath. In other words, they were naked and freaking her out.
While once or twice out of the hundreds of times, it was something like a new eczema flare up or a turd related (constipation) issue, almost every other panicky yell involved a penis related emergency.
It was both hilarious and somewhat cute that she had so many little boy and his penis questions. While my wife has a younger brother, he’s nine years younger than her, so she never really had any hands on experience with helping her mom with the really dirty work that it takes to get a boy and his penis through life.
My wife is a college educated and intelligent woman, and she knows how to use the internet. In spite of this, she still had many questions and inquiries about what was going on with the boys and their peckers.
Why is it hard like that?
Am I hurting them if I do this?
OMG, are they sexual deviants? Are my boys perverts!!!!??
NO DEAR! NOT AT ALL!
It was all perfectly normal stuff.
As our two boys are only three and five, she has many years of penis stuff ahead of her, most of it much more vulgar and disgusting than what she’s experienced thus far.
Since I love her and may drop dead before the boys get married, I thought I’d write a post to assist her and the other moms of the world with their penis related fears.
So for all you confused and worried mothers of boys out there who didn’t have brothers or otherwise don’t know your way around a boy’s ding dong, here’s a list of some things you can expect of your boy and his penis:
Well, before we begin to get to the nuts and shaft of, haha, no, wait, the nuts and bolts of this post, I must forewarn you that I am not a doctor and I am not a blogger who wastes time doing research, so there is no science behind this post.
This is a blog post, not a doctoral thesis or dissertation or whatever they’re even called.
I am, however, a man.
I’ve lived with a penis for 41 years.
I have a dad with a penis and grew up with two little brothers who also have penises.
I watched my own mother struggle to understand and shake her head at us and our penises.
I have seen and experienced my share of penis related activity, so take that as a curriculum vitae that entitles me to be called expert enough to share my wisdom with the moms of the world struggling to understand what’s wrong with their little boys.
1. First and foremost, there is nothing wrong with your little boy. Boys have penises, and that’s a fact. They have this little protuberance and, as they’re little boys, must investigate its use. Why is it there and what do I do with it? If it makes you feel better, consider all the yanking and poking and touching it to various items around your house his own sort of practice in using the scientific method. He’s got a hypothesis, and that is “This thing between my legs is fucking amazing. It must be a magic wand or 11th finger that everyone wants to see and that I should use for everything.” He’s learning.
2. Your son loves you, mom, but he and his penis have a special relationship that you’ll never understand, and really, probably don’t want to. Don’t even bother trying to act like you get it and never try to get between your boy and his love for his penis. Just accept it as normal and do your best to make sure that he knows when it’s okay for him to whip it out and when it must be kept inside its trouser house.
For you visual learning moms, here’s how most men feel when we think about their penis.
2. Boners? Yes, they happen, a lot! They’re perfectly normal, even when the boy is less than a year old and doesn’t really know about women yet. It’s nature, man. If you have him out of his diaper and his lil johnson is exposed to air, chances are good that he’ll get excited. This isn’t only true when he’s 4 months old, it’ll be true when he’s 14, 34 and 104 as well. Don’t be scared of it, it’s just his penis with a bit more blood flow. That’s how he says, “hello mom, I love you,” before he can actually say hello. Just rub his little noggin (the one on his neck please) and say, “Oh son, you little scamp you. I love you too.” or something like that. It’ll go away on its own.
3. Baby’s little ball sack isn’t filled with faberge eggs and there really aren’t “family jewels” in there either, so they don’t have to be handled like they’re going to break if you wash them for him. My own wife often worried about whether or not she was going to hurt the boys, but up until a certain age (see above where I remind everyone I’m no doctor and I don’t remember my own experience) the testicles haven’t grown and there’s nothing there to hurt.
4. Boys who aren’t allowed to pee outside grow up to be serial killers. Is this true? Maybe, but probably not. I would bet that many serial killers did have some penis related issues as youngsters though. When a little boy has to go, he has to go. For my sons, when they say they have to pee, it means right now, not in five minutes or at the next exit, but right.fucking.now. Having boys who are confident and comfortable enough to piss on the side of the highway instead of all over your minivan seats is a wonderful thing. Let them practice in their yards, or better yet, the neighbors’ yards. They don’t pee any more than a cocker spaniel, so it’s not a big deal.
A fun way to potty train your little one is to let them try to write their name in the snow. There does become an age where it becomes necessary that they find discreet places to do their outside peeing, let’s call that age seven just to have a number.
5. There is probably nothing more disgusting and awkward in the world as a pubescent young man. He’s going to be awkward and his voice will start to change and all of a sudden, he’ll have testicles making sperm and semen and stuff. It’s a fact that your little angel will be in his room masturbating all over everything in sight. So gross, right? Wait till he’s doing it in your kitchen sink or in YOUR bed or in the garage or basement or in the car or wherever the urge hits little Johnny Cockknocker. It’s not his fault though, and it’s perfectly normal! Remember, it’s normal! Those Sears catalogs have lady models wearing bras and panties, so expect to never see one of those catalogs in tact until your boys are out of the house. I understand that the internets also has some sexually stimulating material on it as well. I’d suggest you maybe check Johnny’s browser history to keep him off sites that you don’t approve of. While some whacking off to Jennifer Aniston look alikes walking around naked is perfectly normal, there does become a point where normal has been left behind and we’re into let’s call a therapist territory. I’d say animal related stuff is a good red flag.
6. Once those balls have dropped, they become very sensitive to contact, but it shouldn’t really matter to you because it’s no longer cool for you to be washing them for him at this point. That’s gross, Jesus!
As everyone knows, getting hit or even grazed in the balls is the worst pain in the world, bar none. Ball damage can be very serious, so if your little teenager likes to play sports, he should be encouraged to wear a protective cup. It always amazed me the number of teammates I had who played baseball without one. Either they were extremely confident in their fielding abilities, or they were just morons, because a blow to the balls hurts like hell, much worse than even giving birth ladies. I mean, I know lots of ladies who’ve had multiple kids on purpose, but no man has ever volunteered for another blow to the nuts.
Well crap, I have so much more knowledge to share, but it appears I’ve written over 200o words already, and that’s my arbitrary cut off.
Sorry for the length, which by the way, is something only a few of us men ever have to say out loud. Hahahaha, see what I did there?
Do you have any fun penis stories or advice to share? Don’t be stingy.
Have a great rest of the week.