Anyway, I hear Jeff cheering for Rollie, indicating that he's finally peeing, when I hear Rollie say, "Dadda, you have a big penis."
"Thank you," Jeff replies. An automatic response, I'm sure. What guy wouldn't want to hear someone telling him his penis is big? Even if it is coming from his own two-year-old son.
Then Rollie says, "My penis is small."
"That's because you're small," Jeff assures him. "You have small hands, and small feet, too. Someday it will be big."
"Big like Dadda's."
They emerge from the water closet, my husband with a big grin on his face. No doubt basking in my son's observation. I just shake my head, grateful that Jeff is the one to field Rollie's first discovery of other people's genitalia.
To be honest, for some reason I feel like a weirdo discussing my son's penis (*giggle*) with him. Why is that? I'm a grown women, for crying out loud. It's not like I haven't seen a penis before. I've gotten to know one in particular fairly well. We're on a first name basis, we've had some good times. We send each other Christmas cards.
The thing is, I feel like an impostor when my son asks me about that specific region of his body. I feel like I'm a salesman explaining a product and its function when I've never owned one, used one or even seen one before. I guess it's because I don't have one myself. All my knowledge is second-hand, so to speak.
Which is ridiculous, really. I do know how it works, what it's for, its likes and dislikes....Am I dreading the day when my son stops asking questions about it? When he's got everything figured out just fine, thank you, and I'll be left wondering what exactly he's using it for?
That's when I have to stop myself and realize that he's just two. There is plenty of time for all kinds of discussions that are embarrassing on both ends. For now I'll just sit back and try not to laugh when my son notices that his father has a big penis. Soon the day will come when Elsa tells me I have big boobs. And all I'll be able to do is beam and say, "Thank you!"