Parts

To say that I grew up in a modest family is a massive understatement. I had two sisters and I never (ever) saw them in less than their pajamas. And my dad? Might as well have lived in another house. As a family, we liked to pretend that we were all built like Barbies under our clothes. Nothing to see here, folks!

Around here, at Casa de Critical Mass, we are not so modest. I guess it comes from all the years of breastfeeding (18 months each = 3 years. Yikes!). It is hard to be modest about nudity around your kids when you have been baring it all in order to feed them for so long. Not that we're like sitting around watching TV in our all-togethers! But say my comfy bra is in the dryer? It is not unheard of for me to make a wobbly uncovered dash to get it. Even T is pretty casual about being naked in front of the kids - as long as they are well out of touching distance!

That said, there are still some things about body parts, well, boy body parts, that freak me out. First off, during the circumcision? The doctor made me lay down on the floor with my feet on a chair because he thought I was going to pass out. There were no fewer than five panicked phone calls having to do with circumcision care: I don't think you got it all; OMG! You got too much!; it looks like it is swelling; I think it might be stuck (it was); is it supposed to do that?; etc. If we do have a third child, I pray for a girl so I don't have to do that part again!

Once that trauma was done we moved on the the next one: diaper changes. Diapers don't gross me out. (Well, mostly. No one likes the exploding-poop-running-down-into-their-shoes ones!) But from a very young age, Q would giggle when I wiped off little jim and the twins. I felt like I was molesting him! He still does it from time to time. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

After he mastered his gross motor skills, he started grabbing his junk at every diaper change. That seemed pretty normal. As my cousin said, he needs to make sure it is still there. But we have gone beyond the occasional grope. I don't want to give him a complex about touching himself, but COME ON!

In the mornings, I would find both him and his bed soaked because he had pulled his peter out of his pants and wet on the bed. My first strategy was to nix pajamas and start putting him down in a onesie. That worked for a little while, but pretty soon he figured out how to set free his packed away package. Next, I put PJ pants over the onesie. Again it worked for a while, but soon my washer was overloaded again. Finally, I put the pajama pants under the onesie with the onesie snapped on the outside like tights and a leotard. After a bit, he was able to best even that Alcatraz of boy bit containment. Finally? I gave up. I try to go get him at the first rustle in the morning, before he has a chance to hose himself. And do a lot of laundry.

To add insult to injury, he has found a further way to traumatize me now that he is talking. Now his favorite thing to do during a diaper change is to grab the tip of his joystick, pull it out as far as it will go (scrotum skin is amazingly elastic - I swear he could pull that thing over his head), and say "BOING!" as he lets go.

And then I died. The end.