As I sit down to finish editing a serious post about motherhood, I can’t concentrate. One word keeps popping into my congested head.
How is one supposed to edit a piece that she poured her heart and mushy feelings into when she has the word (and in result, an image of) BALLSACK in her head?
I can’t. So once again, the serious topic gets pushed aside in order for the piece about male genitalia to take center stage. I find this happening to me a lot. It’s sad but obviously meant to be. I am being lead to tell my scrotum story.
And thank goodness you all are weird enough to enjoy it. You people, are my people.
So here it goes.
My amazingly handsome and oh-so-intelligent counterpart thought it would be nice to have an anatomy lesson with my 2.5-year-old one night as he was getting him dressed for bed. “Head, shoulder, arm, belly, pee-pee…” My son, who goes by the name Von, would point and hubby would then answer with a body part. Von, then grabs his junk and asks, “Dis? Dis dere…?” Husband replies, “That’s your ballsack, dude.”
And that was it. He had planted the dirty, genitalia seed. He had placed a mental ticking time bomb into the left hemisphere of my toddler’s brain and wasn’t even aware. He had no idea what irreversible damage he had just caused.
I say….. what a dummy.
Fast forward a few days, Von and I go in to wake up sweet sister from her napping slumber. Von quietly opens the door, tip-toes into the nursery like he always does, creeping up to the crib, lifts his little body up onto the tips of his toes as tall as he can stand, peeking over the crib’s railing in order to get a good look at his chubby sister.
At this point, they usually exchange giggles, then I temporarily pass out due to cuteness overload to my heart, then when I regain consciousness I lift sister out of the crib. But today was a tad different. Instead of an adorable giggle-fest, Von decided he wanted to spice things up a bit. He tends to do this daily. “Vonster the Monster” lives a spicy life.
In the highest tiniest voice he could muster (he likes to talk to Berkley in a high pitched voice, clearly mimicking my “baby talk”) he says, “HI WITTLE BALLSACK!”
It took many muscles in my body to keep back my unexpected laughter. I paused. I had no words.
He proceeded to say, “You sooooo CUTE! Here, have dis cow” as he lifted a stuffed animal cow and placed it so lovingly on her face.
To him, he had said nothing inappropriate. She was a ballsack, and she was cute…. what gives? Poor Berkley didn’t even know that she was insulted. She’s only eight months old, she didn’t know that she was just called the undercarriage of a man.
She didn’t know.
Living with a child who spontaneously says and does weird things is actually a lot of fun. Von has an insane amount of personality packed into his tiny body and it supplies me with excellent blogging material.
His phrase obsessions of this week are as follows:
“You! Stop dat! STOP DAT RIGHT DERE!”
This usually gets thrown at me when I am cooking dinner and he wants me to play (like I haven’t been doing that all damn day) or when I am picking up his toys. He demands I stop immediately. He usually yells this phrase with a knit brow and his fat little finger pointed at my face.
“I’m crwying….. Von Cwying.”
My son has started this horrible habit, where if I tell him to come here while he’s super pissed, he will begin to run in the opposite direction. This is just awful, in my opinion, because when toddlers run they don’t pay attention as to where they are going. Von will look back at me, scream and then run smack into a wall.
Karma kid. Karma in the form of a hard textured wall to the side of your face. Super unfortunate.
So because of this running tantrum, I spank when needed. (GASP. I do spank a tush on occasion, insert judgmental thought here.) He got a little spank to the bum today for doing this, and naturally, he started crying. After a few minutes of isolation on his bed, I came in, gave him a hug and told him that he needed to say sorry to Mommy. Without missing a beat, Von looked at me no longer crying, points to his over dramatic toddler tears and said, “But I’m cwying, Von cwying.”
I see that you were crying son, but you must still say you are sorry. Sometimes life sucks.
“I’m OK. I AM OOOOOOOOKAY!”
This one is hilarious. Von will trip, run into walls, or walk into doors and will immediately say “Ouch. I’m OK! I am OOOOOOKAY!”
Even when no one has asked him if he is indeed OK. I won’t see the child fall, but I will hear him reassuring me from the next room over that he is ok, therefore signaling to me that he has run into something hard.
“Mama’s boo-boo, so yucky.”
Here my son is referring to the large zit that is smack-dab in the middle of my eyes. It has made itself a home in one of my facial pores and won’t leave. It’s like the drugged out tenant that won’t accept her eviction notice. My son looks at it in disgust every time I look at him and shoves his finger on it, making my forehead pulsate in pain. “Uh oh, Mama’s boo-boo…yuck right dere.”
Thank you son, for reminding me yet again that I’m gross. Love you, sweet terrorist.
For now his phrases seem to be pretty G-rated. Maybe “ballsack” deserves a PG rating. I know they will get worse and honestly, I am kind of excited about it. Horrible right? Of course, I want my children to be well behaved and respectful, but man, when Von busts out the word ballsack at unexpected times it makes me laugh.
It makes me laugh hard.
Is it wrong to look forward to the next PG-13 word that comes out of my child’s mouth? Maybe…. but I’m with Von on this one, I just want a little bit of spice in my life.
– Until the next time this Redhead rambles.
What does your child say? Whether they are 2 or 19 years-old, I want to laugh, so let’s hear it.
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