I can taste it—sweet victory. Granted, I’ve never actually been victorious in any competition before, so I doubt I know what victory tastes like, but I’m sure the feeling I have has been really close.
Does victory taste like booze? Or cheesecake? Yes? Then I’m right there.
My last baby, my forever baby, is a couple months shy of 2 years, and with every diaper change, I realize he’s one second closer to shedding his plastic penis tomb for big boy underpants—preferably with Paw Patrol or Star Wars adorning them—and while I’m not dreamer, I am ready for him to drop his pseudo, Velcro-clad trou and whip out his little junk right in front of the closest porcelain God. Lord hear my prayer. The reasons are endless.
1. His Herculean Strength
At 21 months and 39 pounds, my child is a monster with Herculean strength. Imagine Hagrid, as a toddler. Could you picture gently laying Hagrid on a changing table and carefully wiping feces off his ass? No? Right, ’cause it’s not gonna happen. And with my kid, it’s crazier than imagining baby Hagrid, because he’s real, and he’s gigantic.
2. His Need to Touch His Privates
Men love to touch their dicks. Boys love to grab their penises. And toddlers, toddlers don’t care how or why; if they get access to their junk, they are gonna tug and itch and grip their little parts through the whole diaper-change exchange. Gross.
3. His Love of Toilets
My toddler thinks toilets are water tables. He will play in them, clog them with stuffed animals and toilet paper, occasionally whipping out the toilet brush and plunger while he plays. He is ready. Either that, or he’s gonna be the greatest fucking plumber known to man.
4. The Amount of His Dirty Diapers
No one poops five times a day and never has a poop on Sunday. That’s not how it works.
5. His Love of Music
Look, you can’t run around the house, naked, dancing to “Downtown” by Macklemore unless you are potty trained. No, shut the fuck up, you can’t. Eventually, with all those moves, you’re gonna need to pee, and you can’t be doin’ your business on mom’s Lani tiles.
As you can see, with the upcoming holiday season, this kid is gonna need to get on potty level. You can’t dance naked to John Denver and The Muppets if you can’t control your bowels or at least your urine—unless you are my 94-year-old grandmother, because she gets a pass.