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So Bubby went to the doctor for his two week check up and to have his circumcision checked.


I won’t go into too much detail, but this whole circumcision thing has had me a wee bit freaked out. {pun intended. because i’m immature.}


The controversy “to trim or not to trim” is not the issue, as we’ve always just known this is the path we would choose for our son, but the bigger picture of “oh my goodness, that’s a boy right there, no doubt about it, can’t be denied.”


The whole concept of boy bits has been a sticking point for me since we found out we were having a… man-child. I spent the rest of the pregnancy realizing that was the closest to being a guy I would ever be and praying for a deeper understanding of how men work as a result.


That’s an unanswered prayer to date.


At least I don’t think I understand guys any better than before, but I imagine I will have the opportunity to explore the inner workings of the male mind in greater depth over the next 20, 30, or 40 years or so.


We got the all-clear from the doctor, which was a relief because between the umbilical cord and the healing of the circumcision (the doctor used the plastibell method), there are two mid-sectional crisis zones of rotting flesh on my poor baby.


{I love that his sisters call the umbilical cord “Bubby’s um-billy-cord” – maybe because it sounds a little like “hillbilly”? Who knows. It just charms me.”}


While completing the circumcision procedure our doctor also informed us our son is well-endowed. That’s a snippet of information I would never have known, not regularly being in the position to compare such things.


But the news is good to have, and gives me the opportunity to contemplate how I can best embarrass my future, highly masculine teenager/young adult. {because i’m immature like that.}


I will save this information to share at the most inappropriate time. Perhaps when his first significant other comes over for dinner? Or maybe I’ll mention it to a future boss in an attempt to create the most awkward scene ever!


I’m a creative gal, I can get some mileage out of this. {starting with including this information in a blog post.}


When I stop cackling with glee at the awful, awful plans I have for my son, I realize I believe, fully, he is well-endowed.


But not in the physical sense.


If well-endowed primarily means “large,” it’s easy to pin the phrase on him in other ways.


He’s endowed with sweetness. A gentle presence. Ears and toes you can’t keep from nibbling.


He is the beneficiary of love from both mom and dad, but also three compulsively affectionate sisters.


He’s got it made, that boy we have. He doesn’t even know it yet.

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