If you are a parent, not much brings a lift to your step quite like the words “potty training.” Well, “sleeps through the night” is pretty fantastic, but I’m at this stage in my parenthood development, so I’m going with potty training. Besides, all those years of sleep-deprivation did so much damage to my memory, I can barely remember those god-awful times. (My husband, BTW, has no recollection of such things as he slept through our youngest child’s sleep peccadilloes. Go figure.) Anyhoo, I have been chronicling some high and low points in our family’s recent conversion from the land of “pull-up” to “underwear” and now I have this chapter to add to my little sad saga.
Who knew I would ever admit to missing the days of diapers? Actually, I don’t miss the diapers per se, but I do miss the inaccessibility that diapers create. At least there was that distinct “rrrriiiipppp” sound when he took his diaper off.
The other day I head down to the basement to take my youngest a drink. (He is very adept at yelling his every whim to me. It seems his siblings are master teachers when it comes to that.) This wasn’t some sneak down the stairs and see how high I can make him jump kind of moments. I simply walked down the stairs with his juice that he had just asked for. And what do I find? A naked little boy sitting on my couch.
Well, to be fair, he still had his shirt on. I pretty much chalked it up to yet another clothing malfunction of his and just dressed him and got on with life. (This is a kid whose every article of clothing bugs him – tags, seams, you name it. We spend an inordinate amount of time trying to get that kiddo dressed and out the door every day.)
A week later I find him under the Foosball table similarly dressed. And then yesterday, while I was happily typing on the computer 18 inches away from him, he stripped down again.
It was one of those “hmm, it’s been pretty quiet” instances and so I turned around and had to have one of those parenting moments. You know the ones where you have to struggle with not laughing out loud and then cycle through all the child psychology courses you’ve ever taken to decide what is actually the appropriate approach.
Here is my adorable 3 year old son, sitting in an office chair with nothing but a Spiderman t-shirt on, carefully inspecting his scrotum. It was like watching the chimpanzees at grooming time.
My reaction? “Honey, remember how you’re not supposed to sit around without your pants on? Remember about germs and how you are leaving germs on the chair when you don’t have your underwear on?”
“Oh yeah. We want to keep our buggy germs all to ourselfs. Right, Mama?”
Who knew I’d ever be thankful that the kids all got Swine Flu?