There are some parents out there that say “I teach my child to use the proper names for their body parts” . That is fine and good but you are just sucking the fun out of small things like this that they will carry on until they have kids. A legacy of some sorts. When I hear “vagina” I am waiting for a speculum to come at me. When I hear the word penis I think of the back seat of an Omni Horizon…but that is a different story.
For my kids I did not get to decide what they were going to call it. Sis did and I seriously could not think of a better word. “Dangle”. It’s now a part of our everyday vocabulary just as “please” and “thank you” are (ok that is a stretch ). I never knew how much trouble these “dangles” would cause. I have had a couple of experiences with some “dangles” in my past but after having kids I realized that I knew nothing.
First off “dangles” do strange things. One day while driving my oldest started to cry “My dangle hurts, my dangle hurts”. Thinking that I had some how pinched it when putting his car seat belt on I pulled over immediately. I jumped out and started to take his belt off and soon discovered what the “hurt” was. I did what every mom would do…I called my husband. How do you explain to a 3-year-old what is going on? This is how “It will go away in a minute”. I know, pretty stellar advice from someone who has no idea what a “hard on” (and no I am not using erection) feels like to a 3-year-old. So I spent the next few minutes apologizing for the “hurt” and after a few minutes it went away. This was with child #1 and never did he really mention it much after that. He dealt with it. Child #2… not so easy. At 4 1/2 I am still dealing with the cries and he says “I have a chubby and it won’t go down”. He does not care where we are either. While visiting in-laws we went to church with them (not a place they have been very often) and while the pastor was in the middle of a heated sermon about the devil (hardcore Baptist church) my son announces to me “I have a chubby and devils aren’t real”. Ugh. For his sake I hope not.
No one told me that when my child is potty trained that the excitement of finally being done with diapers would soon turn into dread. Why you ask? Well “dangles” seem to have a mind of their own when it comes time to pee. Never did I think I would have replace a sink vanity cabinet because my children’s (and I have not ruled Keith out either) urine would warp it and make it crumble like acid had been poured on it. I am convinced that no one actually pees in the toilet unless I am standing right there. I have gotten into the shower and found puddles (I am not opposed to peeing in the shower but only when you are in it and the water is running for it to drain). This has to take several steps like opening the shower door and leaning over to do it. I have found puddles in the bathroom garbage can, behind the actual toilet and I am pretty sure that someone has used the linen closet floor at one time because it really doesn’t smell right sometimes. The best is when someone peed on the roll of toilet paper (which would take turning around completely to do). Am I raising heathens? Nope just boys. I observed, when they are not watching, what they do in there. The little one likes to scratch his butt and look around at the same time which means that it goes in whatever direction he is looking at the time. The older one is a sport pee-er. He has made peeing into a sport in which he needs to see where he can put it and have far he can aim it. Boy do I wish we would have just taught them to sit! Needless to say I spend a lot of time with bleach and on the bright side it is burning out my sense of smell completely.
These “dangles” are fascinating and everyday I learn something new everyday, whether I want to or not. Without them (or it) I would not be here. So as much as I have to clean up after them and be totally embarrassed by them, I tip my hat to them. And when one day my sweet little grandson runs up to me and says “Super Grand” (cuz that’s what they’ll call me) “my dangle hurts” a tear of pride will well up in my eyes and I will say “call your dad, he will know what to do with that”.
