I admit it. I was scared to have a boy child. In my defense, I am an only child (a girl child, at that) who lived mostly with a single mom and I was facing being a single mom myself when I was pregnant the first time. The thought of dealing with anatomical differences scared the bejeezus out of me. Sure, I’d known a few penises in my lifetime but I’ve never actually owned one. What did I know about dealing with such things? So I was glad that my first child was a girl. I’d like to say I wasn’t nervous the second time I was pregnant. I was, even though there was a man around this time and if a little tallywhacker should show up, there was someone to defer to. Because still, I am the mom and well, you know how that goes.
But have a boy I did. And it’s not scary. Not exactly. Hilarious and often times embarrassing but not scary.
The thing I never counted on was the absolute complete and utter joy my son finds in his little member. I mean I knew this would happen say around the age of 12 or so (I wasn’t born under a rock. I do understand the joy an adolescent boy finds!) but had no idea it started so young. It confirms so many things about males in general, really.
When my daughter was around the same age, she too had a fascination with her private parts. However, her interest was really more clinical. Early on, she wanted to know what it was for, how it worked, why her dad didn’t have one and why I did. I don’t know if this is owing to the fact that the female anatomy is a secretive and hidden sort of thing or a temperament thing. I suspect both as her interest in male genitalia is equally clinical. She will be in the medical profession, mark my words. I answered her scientific questions the best I could. She took it all in with wide-eyed seriousness. Like all 3 year olds she lacked the filter for appropriate conversations and liked to talk about her ‘gina pretty much every where she went. The abbreviation was handy in that on occasion I could pass it off as a conversation about angina or Regina. Why a preschooler would be talking about a heart condition or Saskatchewan, I don’t know but sometimes you grasp at straws, you know?
I don’t have this luxury with the boy. In addition to loving his member, he loves to say the word. With gusto. PEE-nis! He also has a song. It goes like this: PEE-nis! PEE-nis! PenispenispenispenisPEE-nis! It’s generally accompanied by a dance. I’ve considered entering him in the Fringe Festival because as preschool performance art goes, it’s quite good. The problem is he will do it anytime, anywhere although the best renditions are after bath when he is unencumbered by clothing. Then we get the full effect of both the penis and the utter joy.
His conversations about it are never clinical but more philosophical. Upon entering a full restaurant he will loudly announce to no one in particular, “Girls don’t have a penis!” In the style of the street theologians who stand on their soapbox claiming the end is nigh. He does this for no reason I can discern whatsoever except to punish me for being scared to have a boy child in the first place. We also have long thoughtful conversations, usually over lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant (which he calls Diesels but is really Paradiso), about whether Thomas the train has a penis or not. He’s a boy, right? But a train. This is heady stuff for a three year old boy to wrap his mind around. And only slightly less so for his 30-something mother. What is gender? And how is Thomas different from Emily? What makes an engine male or female?
The strange thing is, as much as my son loves his genitalia, he’s quite convinced that someday he’s going to be a girl. Like next year. And then some time after that, he will be a boy again. I think it’s because he loves his sister so and wants to be just like her. I also think if he keeps yanking on it like he does that just might happen.
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