Yesterday I took the kids out to lunch and then shopping for new shoes for their fat little feet. Okay, not fat. Just, you know, always growing bigger, for some reason. Why is that?
Anyway, after finally finding sneakers that were acceptable and fit right, we headed to one more store before the promised trip to the carousel in the food court. (The carousel was my bribe for good behavior.)
We went in to this last store, and I waited while the sales clerk finished ringing up another customer. Then I spoke. "Um, my son is playing T-ball…and he needs a cup."
Ah, yes. The boy's first plastic penile protective device. They don't have a space for that in his baby book for some reason – just the walking and talking and teeth.
Anyway, we got the kind that's like little white boxer shorts with a pocket for the cup – no straps or anything to worry about. And we went home.
Later on, I was with him when he changed into his clothes for T-ball practice. I told him to put on this new pair of "baseball underwear." I'd already put the cup in the little pocket in front. He looked at me with a slightly skeptical look on his face, then pulled on the shorts.
He was both amused by and fascinated with the new bulge. He knocked on it with his knuckles and looked up at me with that sweet almost-six-years-old face and said with a newfound look of manly pride: "It looks like I have a really big, hard pee-pee!"
And so it begins.