Remember that episode of Sex and City when Charlotte was dating someone with a pair of “low-hangers”? Carrie was rebounding from Mr. Big with the Hot Yankee, but all they could talk about was Charlotte’s boyfriends’ balls… Because he kept playing with them all the time.
Well ladies, I’m here to tell you that this boyish fascination with balls begins early. We first noticed a bit of grabbing from our little one when he was about six months old in the bathtub. It was more funny than worrisome, and it’s my secret belief that Pappa Svendsen was actually proud and encouraging of his son’s new discovery.
But it’s getting out of control. Bath-time, diaper-time, you name it… our son is enraptured. Changing a dirty diaper has just become exponentially more challenging — as soon as the pants come off, his little fingers magnetically gravitate down there and begin fussing about.
Have you ever tried to keep a little boy from playing with his balls long enough to scrape a layer of smelly dirt off his bottom?! I swear, I must have missed some fine print in the baby contract somewhere because I did NOT sign up for this.
There must be something to balls in general though, but this ball-grabbing fascination isn’t confined to his anatomy. He seems to be learning to enjoy his miniature football as well (that’s soccer to my fellow Americans). It’s my not-so-secret belief that Pappa Svendsen is proud and encouraging of this new discovery as well:
At this point, he prefers to chase his football around the terrace and then sit by it, waiting for someone to kick it again. Kind of like the Chesapeake Bay Retriever we had when I was little – except not, because then I would be comparing my son to a dog.
And if you’ve managed to read down this far without turning off your computer in disgusted embarrassment, here is your reward:
What a face!!!
I just hope a bunch of spoiled thirty-something women aren’t sitting around wondering about my son’s ball-playing habits someday…