While passing through the living room, I was stopped by a little face looking as though….well, looking as though his wee winkie was squished in a book and he didn’t quite know what was happening or how to fix it. His little brow furrowed and breath sucked in, waiting for rescue.
Upon rescuing his small appendage, he looked down to study himself. He then looked up at me with questioning eyes and signed “nurse?” “You want to nurse?” I ask, thinking the obvious…that he was asking to nurse. He then points back to himself while looking at me and signs “nurse” again. Oh.
So today I had to break it to my son that his penis was not for nursing. He did ask again several minutes later. I posed it as a question since reflection is something mothers *do*, “Are you asking ‘Can you nurse your penis?'” He instantly bent into an awkward position, hindered only by his bipedal bone structure, to attempt the impossible with his little mouth agape. He looked back at me with a confused, sad look.
Oh my. Nope. Not now, not ever. Sorry bud.
Some days, you never know what even the littlest of boys will throw your way.