Boys and Their Toys (Well, Really, Just the One)


that is the word i decided long ago i would use to describe henry’s, well, you know. i didn’t want to beat around the bush (stop it) and call it his ‘dinker-do’ or squibbly-wabble’ or ‘ne’er do well’ or whatever other pet names parents give to their progeny’s genitalia.

but it hasn’t mattered. he’s not all that interested in it so far. he’s not like a friend of mine’s son who will actually allow himself to fall on his head, facing possible trauma and disfigurement, in the name of keeping both hands firmly planted on his wang-doodle.

however, i am concerned that i’m going a little bit overboard on the sexually liberated, forthright and honest parenting bit. whenever henry’s hand absently wanders anywhere in the vicinity of his twig and berries, i’m all like “THAT’S RIGHT, HENRY! THAT IS YOUR PENIS.” he’s going to think it is a word that needs always to be announced. this could be a problem.

but i feel that if i don’t give him the proper words to use and make it clear that it’s a normal, healthy, natural thing to be curious about his wedding tackle,  he’ll be messed up good for life.

or, this could happen.

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