Why is everything WET?
Apparently, if one is in possession of a penis, learning to control it is a lifelong battle.
As the mother of a three-year old boy, I can say that it is a rare day that passes when I am not wiping urine off of something on which urine does not typically belong. To date, I have cleaned someone else’s pee off of clothing, toilet seats, closed toilet lids, floors, walls, bathtubs, my own legs, my sons’ head (go ahead and try to figure that one out), three different beds, the living room carpet, our back deck, a car seat, dining room hardwood floors, my leather Jeep interior, toys and a dirty (but not previously that dirty) pile of laundry.
It seems as though the seemingly endless stream of pee does not end with early childhood, either. Some suggest that even into the teen years, urination plays too much of a role in people’s lives. A Crabby Old Fart I’ve read about seems to believe that bathroom time is excessive for older kids, too. Though, at that age, the bulk of time spent behind a bathroom door is more often time spent primping, slathered in hair product, contemplating their own gift of beauty to the world. This gentleman maintains, though (and humorously so), that frequent urination in the young is a symbol of laziness and defiance, not an indication of medical incontinence yet to come. Hilarious.
Aside from all the peeing, of course, there are a host of other issues our sons ultimately have to face as the owners and operators of man-parts. As was pointed out in another parenting blog, uncircumcised boys (fairly rare still in the U.S., I think?) must contend with what I thought was a potentially emotionally difficult procedure daily. If you read this linked post and you are raising boys, I’d love to know what you think about giving your son the memory of having an…um…hands-on mom.
Of course, as they get older, moms must deal with another issue associated with raising boys. As it was put in Bridesmaids, “Everything is covered in semen. I literally broke a blanket in half.” Now, I hope not to reach this lovely milestone of boy-parenting for some time yet, but I imagine that by that point, I shall no longer be fazed in any way about anything associated with bodily fluids any longer. After being puked, pooped and peed on more than once, your gag reflex starts to become less and less prominent. Parenthood seems to have a way of making us all into iron-stomached folk.
Having never had a penis attached to me personally, I also do not understand the inability of adolescent and young adult men to control the emotions associated with its existence. If popular culture is any indication, seeing so many music artists using crotch-grabbing as a piece of choreography would suggest that men are constantly acutely aware of their baggage. Perhaps I am fortunate to have internal lady-parts since I don’t have a constant reminder of sex dangling off of me every time I put on pants.
On that same note, it pains me to think that one day my sons will begin to experience some sort of vagina radar that seems to become active in young dingle doo-dahs that seem to lead horny guys to fresh meat much in the way the forked twig seemed to lead ancient folk to water. This seems like a terrible affliction. Many young men I met as a younger version of myself never seemed to learn how to handle this malady. For the sake of my boys’ safety, I hope my husband and I can instill in them good manners, respect, kindness and gentleness so that they never have to have their asses handed to them by the irate father of a defiled young lady. (As a side note, in such an occasion, the boys would get their asses handed to them a second time at home, too.)
I love my boys. But, you can add this to the list of “Things They Didn’t Tell You To Expect While You Were Expecting.”
So, lesson learned.
Pee-Pees are hard to deal with.
That’s what she said.