That Thing You Do

One of my sons is in love. Deeply, dare I say, obsessively in love. The object of his affection? Himself.

More specifically, his penis.

I'm not going to name this son by name. You'll have to use your sleuthing abilities to figure out which one.

It all started when we graduated from diapers to big-boy pants. Suddenly, everything was much more available, and oh-so-exciting. At first, it was an occasional tug. No big deal---nothing he hadn't seen already.

But, alas, my little scientist learned a quick lesson in cause and effect, and his activity has increased. Think Al Bundy.

Well-meaning people ask him, "Oh, honey, do you need to use the potty?" It's a logical thing to conclude.

Before I can whisk him away (anywhere, anyplace), he'll be quick to reply, "No, I'm just touching my pee-pee."

Thanks for sharing, my son. Thanks for sharing.

We're in a delicate place here. We don't want to make it a big deal, because he'll do it all the more--having power over Mommy and Daddy is so fun! Also, we don't want to give the poor kid a hang-up. Having a penis is pretty swell (or so I've been told).

On the other hand, it's rude and it's awkward to play with yourself in public. The "ick" factor alone is enough for me.

So, we've told this son of ours that he is not to touch his penis unless he is getting dressed, taking a bath, or going pee-pee. When he inevitably asks, "Why?" we explain that it is rude.

So, on a scale of 1-10, how greatly are we scarring our child for life?

I felt a little better today, when a little girl at Bible School stripped off every stitch of clothing, including her diaper, and frolicked in the baby pool, right on the front lawn of the church. The adults were laughing, her mother was chasing her with a diaper, and her fellow toddlers were not blinking an eye. They couldn't have cared less.

Perhaps the only thing being scarred for life is my own sense of pride. But, I would still appreciate the insights of those who are now proud veterans of the Penis Wars.