By Susan Howard
It was a common, brisk afternoon when inspiration struck. The day started innocently; morning bottles, burps, tug-o-war with his sister, normal baby fare. During an unsuspecting diaper change, he did it. He reached DOWN, the first of a lifetime of reaches. Curious, he lay examining himself, eyes blank, but thinking. I wait for a moment. “This is exploration, this is normal, I am a cool mom, I’ll give him a second to process,” I think to myself. He proceeded expressionless but pointedly grabbing the balls…and the whole situation, really.
After a spell I put on the clean diaper. He grabs there, unsure where his new friend went. “That’s your weiner schnitzel,” I say out loud. “Weiner schnitzel?” Brandy later scolds me. “Well what should I call it?” Remember, I am a lesbian, not a man hating one, but somewhat dick averse. Honestly I don’t know much about the thing accept that my college boyfriend had blue balls because I held out on him so long. (Sorry Patrick.)
So ignorance becomes fear, which leads to the horror that stands between my son, his weiner, and me. Maybe there is an online class I could take. To be fair I have a close gay guy friend that is scared of boobs. In fact he had to quit his favorite spinning class because the well-endowed instructor kept bursting out of her sports bra during the hill climbs. He couldn’t take it.
“Why didn’t you just call it a penis? That’s what it’s called! People don’t say ‘privates’ or ‘binkie’. They use the correct terms.” My wife is such an adult. Maybe I am from the 50’s. I tell my older daughter to wash her “area”. “You’re such a prude,” my wife continues. She revels in any opportunity to make me feel lame, apparently that’s not super hard to do.
I have always been curious about how straight women refer to the cock. I’ve overheard women talking about girth versus length and which is more important. Women battling back and forth. I think girth won out in the end. I had nothing to contribute to the conversation, which is likely why I never get invited to girls’ weekends in Arizona poolside with nail polish and margaritas. It’s a straight girl thing. My wife is straighter than I am. For example she could tell a coworker that her boobs look great in a shirt, whereas, if I said that, Brandy would ask, “What are you looking at her for?”
Back to the package. For now we have no real activity, other than most diaper changes, which are a practice in self exploration, and all before he even turned one. I am proud of the little bugger and his little member. I don’t think I have cost him too much in therapy so far. My shrink bill, conversely, is going up.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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