You can almost imagine this topic being mentioned in the Michael Jackson case, but in this case, it’s just a mom and her little man, and there’s no creepy vibe going on.
I think I was probably five or so, when I got my first glimpse at the male reproductive organ. I believe my cousin was challenging me to a pissing duel and without parental units to shame us into putting our pants back on, I can distinctly recall standing on my swing set trying desperately to launch my urine farther than my gender-advantaged cousin.
It was no contest.
I would go a few more years before I saw another male member and it was under rather different circumstances. My initial reaction was, “Wow this is really a foreign thing we have here.” It just seemed to have a mind of its own and acted of its own volition. Ahh…but I have said too much.
Anyways, let’s fast forward a few years and add a few more “wiener experiences” under my belt to my early twenties, when spying a penis had become a more common occurrence. I should preface that these were all serial wiener experiences, no random or stray wieners (um, not that I care to recall) for me.
It took me a long time until I became truly comfortable being in the same room with one unmasked and fully displayed – I always felt its watchful presence, like I was being followed. Very unnerving.
But then I got married and seeing a wiener was just old hat. Not to imply that is a negative thing, because in general it’s not any weirder than seeing an ear or a nose. It has become just one more facet of the human body that I know a little more about.
Then I had Alex, and the wiener took on a whole new life.
This wasn’t just any wiener; this was my SON’S wiener. I was responsible for making decisions about this wiener, keeping it clean and unsullied.
Alex and I share a mutual fascination with his wiener and I am told that this is a mom thing. He likes to touch it and I like to ask him where it is, and of course he likes to show me. I am guessing (as I don’t have any other boys to compare to) that a time will come that he will no longer share his fascination with his wiener with his mom, and my asking him where it is will be less “cute” and more “creepy.”
At which point I will then cautiously wait until he becomes a teenager and will instruct him what he can or cannot do with his wiener, and he will most likely tell me to mind my own damn business, slam the door to his room and mutter obscenities about what a nosey busybody I am.
Alas, that is many years away and I have this special time now where he and I can play the innocent game of “Alex where’s your wiener?” and relish the deeply amusing habit of his obsessive nutgrabbing – something that I am SURE he will continue to do long into his adult life.
So, where’s your wiener?