(3 years, 9 months)
I’m reading The New Yorker and having my second cup of coffee this morning while you’re wandering among the profusion of wooden trains, tracks, trucks and building materials all over the living room floor. Then I notice you are trying to put a yellow plastic nut over your smartly erected penis. It doesn't fit and you give it up. A few moments later you're walking toward me saying, ‘Daddy, look.’
You've got the tin train engine with a golden cord, that’s a Christmas tree ornament, hanging from your penis. ‘See,’ you say, ‘I can hold it up with my penis.’
‘Indeed, you can,’ I reply.