Last Night In The Tub

"Face, Hands and Feet. All clean," I say, hanging the washcloth over the tray we once used, pre-children, to hold our soap.
"NO! My balls mommy."
"What," I say, my face frowning.
"Wash balls."
"Oh," I say, confused. "Okay."
I hand Nugget over the washcloth, his hand has been outstretched waiting patiently.
"My balls mommy, my balls."
Who taught him balls? My husband? Would he tell him he had balls?
"My balls, mommy!"
"Go ahead honey," I say, sitting on the side if the tub with Meatball wrapped in his towel, watching in horror as my son is about to 'wash his balls.'
"Mommy! My balls!"
"Go ahead honey, wash your balls."
Then I see it. The balls that he brought into the tub, that I placed in the sink so that Meatball wouldn't get plummeted while bathing.
"Oh," I smile. "You want to wash your balls."
"Yeah," he exclaims, bouncing in excitement as I ironically hand him his two balls.