There are dark days ahead. Dark brown potty training days

There are dark days ahead.  Dark brown potty training days

There has been a terrible and sizemic shift in the attitudes and behaviors in and around my house and it is most unsettling.  There are those that have began to dabble in a dirty, if not deadly, game that is most foul.  A game so nauseating that primal instincts that lead us, as human beings, from danger are being ignored to the point of arrogance. There are still others that are willingly putting their faces mere inches from the abyss.

A hauntingly powerful yet vague statement to be sure, but this is not the subject that one launches into with Hollywood like visual effects and fanfare.  A delicate matter this is.  People must be protected, images and dates must  be altered lest an innocents reputation be ruined before it even is started.

There are people in my house that have become obsessed.....with poop.

Poop.  I'll write it again.

Obsessed with poop.

That is the order of the day, of the days, around here.

Potty training has begun in earnest and it isn't pretty.  Along with that there has arisen a secondary love/hate relationship.

The mother-in-law is seemingly always out in front, very parenting forward.  She was the first to cast aside the formula and bottle.  She was the first to start the walking.  She was the first to wag her finger at the boy.  And she is now the first to start the potty training.  It was probably a month ago already that I walked into her house to make the pick-up when a saw my son sitting with his tiny pants around his ankles, in the middle of the family room, sitting on a tiny pooper dooper.

Surprised is not he word for how I was.  When our eyes met, his was an expression of, give me a magazine or quit looking.  Although I believe that he loved the feel of air on his tiny bits.

What guy doesn't?  That's why we can't be stopped from peeing outside.

Having told the wife of this new development she has taken up the mantle.  Now it goes on in our house, daily.  I walked in from work early the other morning and there they were, on the floor, in the family room, trying to make.  It is a bit unsettling to walk through a dimly lit house in the dark morning to have your eyes finally adjust and see that scene.  It takes the brain a few seconds to process and assess the danger scale.

It's a 7 by the way.  Almost a fight or flight scenario.

Also, I'm secretly jealous because the boy gets a basket of toys set in front of him and gets to play with/throw the toys at will.  That
's why I didn't run.  Envy.

Now I get updates on the poop.  At best I'll get a picture text to me of poops that the wife and boy are so proud made it in the can.  At worst I'll be home when it happens and have a rotting can full of "make"  shoved under my nose and hear the delighted squeal of the wife,

"See?!  Look! See?!"

Actual photo sent from actual wife with caption "caught a poop in the potty!!".  It has been censored for your protection.

Actual photo sent from actual wife with caption "caught a poop in the potty!!". It has been censored for your protection.

Nevermind that the boy is just walking.  Nevermind that he is barely tall enough to see over the toilet bowl.  Nevermind that he just had his first birthday.  Never mind all of that.

The boy is confused.  He doesn't know when it's time to do shit.  Literally.

As part of the training the wife is turning him into The Nature Boy.  She will strip the diaper off and let him roam free and innocent.  I don't need to tell any parents how dangerous that is.  But I can give you some examples!

Last weekend, at my fathers house, the Nature Boy was in his kiddie pool splashing away and guess what.  He deuced.  The ol' number two.  Mississippi mud.  The next day, same scenario, but this time out of the pool running on the brick patio under the pergola. Boom.  Blasting foulness.  A toddler without a diaper can't think of anything more dangerous in this entire world.  Nothing!  No good will come of it, only disaster.

Even  with a diaper you aren't safe.

I should have read the signs last summer.  It was all there, it all played out for me like a cosmic ballet.  Bill Shakespeare himself couldn't have foreshadowed this moment better.  The wife's sister was holding the boy on beautiful summer day, in a white dress.  Holding. kissing, loving, doting, all the while unknowing what was happening all over he eggshell summer dress.  Brown death.  That was prelude to this.

Much like a tornado devouring everything in its path and leaving a miles wide swath of destruction, I hope it passes soon.  And I'm alive to tell the tale.




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