“Would we demeanour during that—he’s gonna be a genuine ladies’ man!”
Words oral by a 50-something maternity-ward helper as she altered my five-hour-old baby’s diaper.
Yep. The helper during a rarely regarded, big-city sanatorium indeed had an opinion about a distance of my baby baby boy’s business. She meant it as a compliment, obviously. In a penis-size-obsessed culture, where a large one creates a male a intent of honour and lust (and a tiny one creates him a boundary of jokes), this medical veteran for certain suspicion I’d be chuffed by her assessment.
I wasn’t. we was annoyed that she would objectify my baby this way—and force me to contemplate his destiny passionate encounters. we was angry by her heteronormative assumption, too—he could be a men’s man!
OK FINE. we was a bit chuffed. What can we say? we live in a same universe a helper does. we didn’t wish to caring about my newborn’s penis size, though we did. For like 5 minutes. And afterwards we indeed forgot about a criticism for many years. Seeing your kid’s penis on a daily—diaper changes, bathtime, potty training, pointless naked tarnishing around a house—will benumb any mom.
But afterwards we had another son. Another penis. Not immediately, though somewhere around my youngest boy’s second birthday, as he and my then-seven-year-old bathed together, my father and we unexpected beheld that a small one seemed disproportionately large compared to his brother. So was it, in fact, a second innate who was good endowed? Or…was my comparison son’s penis not flourishing properly?
Trouble is, there’s no approach to know for sure. Normally we demeanour online for answers. Like, if he had a raised, tingling rash, I’d Google picture hunt “child lifted tingling rash.” In this case, Googling eight-year-old penises could really good finish with mommy behind bars.
I suspicion about seeking my kid’s pediatrician—she contingency see tons of penises—but we don’t wish my child in on a conversation. Presumably she’d let me know, in a really mature, pointed way, if there was a distance problem. So distant she’s been silent. But we still wonder.
One of my closest friends has an eight-year-old, too. In what was really a weirdest (bordering on inappropriate) conversations we’ve ever had, she attempted to approximate, regulating her fingers, her kid’s penis size. Definitely distant some-more ungainly than it was helpful.
Thinking about all this, we came to a disconcerting realization: One day soon, I’ll see my almost-nine-year-old son exposed for a really final time. His preference to keep his private tools private could start during any time, though warning. And that’s excellent and healthy, though it does meant my window for gripping lane of this distance thing is closing.
Crossing something off my neurotic-mom worry list is never a bad thing. Instead, I’ll put my appetite toward reminding him that his physique is crafty and can do many things, and that he’s clever, waggish and kind. And that helper will be right: He will be some kind of man.
Dawn Cliffwood is a pseudonym.
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