A Rant About the Male Reproductive Organ

I have decided that I am not particularly fond of p*nises.

Yeah, yeah, I know, they can be an awful lot of fun to have around during sex. But other than that? They're just a pain in my, um, gee, any word I put in here is going to sound unintentionally dirty. See what I mean about what a pain they are?

You might be asking yourself why I am ranting about the male urinary tract system--and, in particular, its external components--right now. Let me assure you, you would NOT be asking yourself that question had you seen me just a few hours ago, wiping urine from the arm of my suit jacket after helping N go to the potty when I dropped him off at daycare. You would not be asking yourself that question if you had seen me last night, mopping urine off the floor in a restroom stall, when Mr. I'm-New-To-This-Whole-Potty-Thing's aim got a little off-kilter. You would not be asking yourself that question if you have had to use the bathroom at my house after said New-To-This guy had sprayed the entire seat you were about to use. (Feel free, here, to imagine me saying, in my best trying-to-remain-calm voice, "That's the wrong hole to aim at, sweetie. Not the hole made by the upright toilet seat; the hole that actually HAS WATER IN IT!" Because, except for that whole trying-to-remain-calm thing, that is precisely what I say on a near-daily basis.)

I'll refrain from adding to this litany of urinary sins the fact that this child has been nominally potty trained for months now, but still wets himself almost every day, and still won't use the potty for anything other than peeing in, and mostly insists on sitting rather than standing, especially when using 'unknown' toilets, and has even less mastry over the whole holding-his-p*nis-down thing than he does over the aiming-at-one-hole-or-the-other thing. Hence the suit jacket. But like I said, I'm refraining.

And then there's the obsession with the external reproductive organ that begins oh-so-ridiculously young. Again, I will do some refraining. Instead, I will simply pass along, without comment, a conversation I overhead last night between N and Baroy, as Baroy was drying N after a bath.

Baroy: N, you need to stop doing that, so I can put your pajamas on.
N: It's OK, Daddy. I not pulling it. I just touching it.

Still, despite the check-out-this-cool-toy-I-have aspect, N actually seems to have some penile doubts himself. In a curious anti-Electra complex, he has declared--several times, of late--that when he gets bigger he's not going to have a p*nis any more, he's going to have a v*gina like Em and Mom. I'm not really sure how to answer that. But I feel his pain.