The problem with willies.

So we all know that men have a very deep love for their willies.  So much so that most men feel the need to walk around, hands down pants cradling the little love at every opportunity.  Gross.  Wouldn’t you think that the amount of time they spend ‘getting to know’ their dick’s they would learn to aim it so that ALL of the wee lands in the toilet bowl!

As the mother of two boys I fully anticipate a life of constant “Get your hands off your willy!” chats, I didn’t quite realise how quickly that would start though.

Thomas was about a week old the first time I thought I had given birth to a future sex pest,

“MMMMMUUUUUMMMMM THERE’S SOMTHING WRONG, HURRY UP!”

“what’s the matter, is the baby ok?”

“I think he’s gone through puberty already, look he’s got a hard on!”

queue a lovely fountain of baby pee all over my jeans.  First lesson in raising boys, their little soldiers stand to attention when they need a wee.  Lesson learned.

Whilst relieved that my week old son was in fact not a future sex pest (at least hopefully no more than the rest of the  male population) this was the first instance of many willy-gate dramas.

I always thought that man bits were super sensitive I mean you accidentally knock a mans dick they roll around for an hour like you’ve just castrated them with a rusty blade, seriously man flu has nothing on ball aches, I realised that this must just be rubbish the day my one year old son stretched his little wiener all the way up to his nips, I mean he just kept pulling and pulling with some weird smile on his face, as if he was letting me into some kind of man-code secret.  I have concluded that this must mean that much like man-flu men pretend to be seriously hurt if you sucker punch accidently knock their genitals.  It’s all an attention thing,  bloody men!

I have also discovered that the age a boy starts to value his balls more than his life is way younger than I thought, when Thomas started playing football about a year ago they were practicing that weird human wall thing they do if some one is taking a free-kick, the coach told them to place a hand across their chest in-case the ball hits them and they get hurt and the other hand was to cup their manhood for the same reason, I swear to god every single kid forgot about a hundred times to cover their vital organs such as their lungs and heart and instead opted to use both hands to cradle their genitals, after all is life really worth living is you can’t spend it thinking with your knob?

Being a girl. a girl who’s spatial awareness is completely out of sync with reality, willies cause me no end of stress, jeans with a zipper on are far to risky in our house so we avoid the crotch zip whenever possible (we’ve all seen “There’s something about Mary” right?).  I have before now completely forgotten to tuck the little fella down when putting a nappy on and Henry peed in his own face out of the top of the nappy.  Thomas has asked me hundreds of times what a willy is for and why it looks like a sausage roll and now finds it hilarious to shout “Look mummy its willy rolls” as loud as he can every time he sees one, thanks kid, I used to like them!

The idea that an emergency pee stop is easier with boys is also a complete myth, at home standing up for a wee is apparently the necessary way, who cares if your bathroom constantly smells like one massive urinal no matter how many times a day you clean it.  If your outside though they still need you to hold them up like you would with a little girl because why make life easier?  The problem is willies have a mind of their own, a girls wee just falls in the direction its pointed, a boys wee defies gravity, it windmills about everywhere and splashes you in the face before landing on your new suede boots, yes this has happened to me.

Revenge is of course sweet and when Thomas was coming up for three he went through this weird nudist phase and refused to wear any clothes or underwear, and one day all of a sudden a bird flew and hit our window, Thomas was horrified and wanted to know why the bird didn’t just see the window and fly away, never one to miss an opportunity to traumatise my children, and remembering a story my mum had told my brother (thanks for the parenting advice mother),  I told him that the bird thought his willy was a worm and was coming to eat it, that’s why he needed to wear at least underpants so the birds didn’t get his little pecker, and to avoid any further bird casualties.  I didn’t really think this through as for the next six months getting Thomas to go into a paddling pool outside or have a bath when the window was open was impossible!  I definitely shot myself in the foot, it was the longest, hottest, sweaty bathroom filled summer ever!

The biggest problem with being a mummy to boys?  It’s definitely what’s in the pants!