Wee, Willies, Winkies

Wee, willies and winkies are key topics of talk in our house;

Maybe it’s because I live with four boys, although one of them is my spouse.

Every day conversation is punctuated with analysis of bodily functions,

On the walk home from school or waiting not so patiently at road junctions.

If my boys aren’t farting and giggling or weeing unashamedly in the bath,

They’re wiggling their willies or flashing their bums, just to get a laugh.

They give themselves and each other wedgies, then ask me to take a look;

I don’t know how to break it to them that I’d rather just read my book.

They put underpants upon their heads and prance around otherwise nude;

They talk about trumping when we’re eating, with no notion of it being rude.

They put various spherical objects up jumpers and pretend that they have breasts,

They fashion bras or even better pilfer mine when I’m getting dressed.

Just to shake things up a bit, my boys tuck their willies between their thighs,

To pretend that they have a winky instead and then let it spring free and shout, ‘Surprise!’

My husband and I have become familiar with being told every day that of poo we stink;

We’re choosing to take it as a compliment; ‘Poohead’ is a term of endearment we think.

It’s quite impressive really just how much mileage from the topic of urine can be had;

I don’t know if I was the same as a little girl, maybe it just has extra appeal if you’re a lad.

In the whole area of bodily ablutions I admit that boys can have way more fun;

I would too if I could projectile wee up a wall and pretend my bits are a water gun.