Penis Guillotine

It seems that hospitals enjoy discharging new mom and dads with a freshly cut penis of your baby boy. Thanks, guys. Like it’s not stressful enough anticipating what life at home will be like with a stranger that can’t communicate to you other than screaming at the top of its lungs, the hospital staff thought it’d be even more exciting to snip the little dude’s foreskin and make a boo-boo on his pee-pee.

The hospital pulled this stunt on us with The Boy. And after a completely different hospital staff did the same with Baby Boy, I now see the trend. The Boobs, a registered nurse in a neonatal intensive care unit, confirms their strategy.

“They’d rather you deal with the baby than them,” she said. Smart fuckers.

The doctor discharged The Boobs and The Babies last Friday, naturally after he carved his signature into Baby Boy’s man stick. Our day shift nurse, Nancy, entered our room to announce the news.

“The doctor is here so I’m going to get Baby Boy ready for the circumcision,” she said.

No shit, at that moment, Baby Girl, while being held by my mother-in-law, cracked a big smile. Nancy is an expecting grandmother. She comes across as a seasoned, knowledgeable nurse and calls The Boobs honey and sweety often. Knowing The Boobs is an RN, she decides to engage her in some shop talk.

“We use the Mogen clamp here,” she said. “I really like the Mogen. I don’t like the Gomco.”

She began to describe the difference between the two. My head was swimming. All I really heard her say was guillotine. That’s when I decided I’d wash the feeding syringes we used to supplement The Babies with formula after their tandem breast feeding session.

I snatched the pieces, swiftly walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet to drown out this horrifying conversation. As Nancy left to coordinate the beheading with the doctor, she walked passed the bathroom door with an invitation.

“Daddy can join us if he wants,” she shouted with a smile in her voice.

“No no, I’m good,” I asserted.

Nancy returned shortly. She rolled Baby Boy and his crib away to the torture chamber. About 30 minutes later she returned with a subdued Baby Boy. His eyes were as wide as the moon, yet he didn’t stir. Now I wasn’t in Vietnam, but he looked like he just witnessed the Viet Cong saw his best friend’s head off and fix it on a stick to use as a trophy. Which, I guess, is a really nice euphemism for what did happen.