Dinglebell, Dinglebell, Dingle all the way

When we brought The Bruiser home from hospital, Princess Firstborn, who was then 18-months-old, was somewhat taken aback to discover that unlike her, he was hiding funny dangly bits under his nappy.

 

Having no experience in this kind of situation, I gently explained that this was her little brother’s “Dinglebell” — don’t ask me where I got the name from but it was the first word that came to mind and it stuck.

 

Not having a Dinglebell myself, when it came to potty training time, I had no idea of the correct peeing protocol and taught The Bruiser to gently dab the top of his penis with toilet paper to make sure he was dry before pulling his underpants back up.

Four years on, the Bruiser still insists on calling it his Dinglebell and carefully dabbing it dry with toilet roll.

 

The topic came up in conversation recently when I was out for a few drinks in our local with my husband and brother. It went something like this.

 

Husband: “This has to stop or he’ll end up being bullied by the rest of the lads on the rugby team when he’s older. Can you imagine him going in to take a leak when he’s out on the piss with the lads and wiping his manhood (OK, he may not have used that exact word) with toilet roll?”

 

Brother: “He’ll be a laughing stock. It has to stop now.”

 

Me: “OK, we’ll have to talk to him about it. So, what should we tell him to call it instead?”

 

After discussing and discarding a few choice options, we decided on ‘willy’ as the most acceptable new name for The Bruiser’s tackle — an inoffensive, yet manly-enough moniker.

 

The little man himself, however, is having none of it. He was happy enough to replace the wiping with a good shake but he’s not up for changing the name. His Dinglebell is his Dinglebell and that’s it, end of story. I decided not to worry about it for now; there’s plenty of time yet and he’s still only in playschool.

 

That was until my dad came to stay recently and The Bruiser (who for some reason was walking around naked from the waist down, as you do) decided to regale us all with his new party piece.

 

Sung to the tune of Jingle Bells, he belted out: “Dinglebell, Dinglebell, Dingle all the way. Oh what fun la la la la (he couldn’t remember that bit) on a one horse open sleigh” while swinging his hips energetically from side to side and shaking said Dinglebell in time.

 

Michelle McDonagh is a freelance journalist working from Blarney, Co Cork. She’s a mum of three children aged 2, 4 and 5, and a firm believer in 'good enough' parenting, bribery and the healing powers of chocolate.