We’re in the process of sorta, kinda, not really potty training Lucas right now (2 years old). We got him a potty seat a few months back, but he started standing inside the thing. We put it away when we thought of him learning to poop and pee in it while still in the habit of using it as step stool. (Wow. That was a completely accidental pun right there.)
He doesn’t tell us ahead of time that he needs to go, but he’s gotten to the point where he tells us he’s in the process of whipping up a batch or that—DING!—his biscuits are indeed ready. Trust you me, this is a much appreciated phase for us. Diaper changes are so much easier to deal with “fresh” than if they’ve been tumbled around by two active butt cheeks or had a chance to harden like plaster for an hour or more.
In The Men’s Room
This last weekend, Lucas tagged along with me to the restroom of an upscale restaurant we were dining at. As the urinals came into sight, the super-low little boys’ urinal spoke out to me. It was telling me this was a prime opportunity for me to forward the potty revolution. To point out a future goal to Lucas and provide him with a real-world demonstration.
I called him over and pointed to the mini urinal and said, “Look, lad. You pee in it.” He looked up and smiled politely at me, not really getting it but showing that he knew whatever I was blabbing about was important to me.
“Here. Watch.” I stepped into the enclosure of the privacy guards (this wasn’t an anatomy lesson) and started… going. Lucas looked at me, then at the little urinal, then at me. He’s got it now, I thought. Then he walked up to it and grabbed the bright blue “freshness puck” from the bottom of the urinal and held it up…
“Put it back put it back put it back! Oh God! Please put it back!” I stood there writhing in place, trying to exert 2000 pounds per square inch of pressure on my bladder in a biological effort to fast forward to the end.*
* Note to the women reading this who don’t already know this: for a man, once you start peeing, it can be nearly impossible to stop.
Lucas set the sanitary disc down reluctantly, like handing over treasure he’d only just discovered. I became aware of the steady laughter of a gentleman I hadn’t known was in one of the stalls. I started laughing too at the thought of what I’d just witnessed and what he’d been overhearing.
I sighed as I finished laughing, looked down, and zipped up.
“I washing my hair.”
I whipped my head to see him patting his hair and then scooping up more water from the urinal. “I washing my hair,” he said again with delight. AAAARRRGGG!!! I leapt in and picked up the little toilet-bathing bandit as fast as I could without tearing his or my arms out of their sockets. The man in the stall was now explosively farting in unison to his unrestrained laughter.
I was laughing uncontrollably as I cleaned Lucas up on the sink, and I thought, Lizzie’s gonna kill me. And by that I meant: I couldn’t wait to tell her, but knew I would have to do so with an unobstructed escape route and have ready an accurate report of how many times I’d washed his hands and hair after it had happened.
– The End –
…Or is it just the beginning?
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