It’s Potty Humor (so it has to be funny)

I rise to the top when it comes to certain fatherly duties, and doody in the potty is not one of them. I’m only so-so on pee-pee in the potty. It’s at times like these that I am so thankful my wife is still alive, because if I lost her in a ski accident, or at the beach, both Jack and I would be screwed. He would be shitting himself in Depends diapers at age 14, and I would be the largest retail consumer of air freshener. Nicole really fills in the parenting gaps for all my faults.

It’s not that I’m not totally in love with the idea of cleaning up the feces and urine of another animal in my house (we have a dog, who I will eventually complain about). I just hate having to remind him to bless me with the opportunity. It’s difficult enough to recall what I enjoy. How am I supposed to remember to tell someone else to crap, so that I have the luxury of shoveling it?

Can’t you just hear the righteous parents in the distance with their pitchforks and hate? “How dare you?” “That is your child!” “You must love everything about your blessing!!!” Bullshit…no…I mean, really, his shits are the size of a bull’s shit. This is no ordinary child. When I change his diapers, I have to change his pants too, and melon scoop the poop out of his belly button. Quite frankly, I don’t think the Elmo potty can even handle it. Christ, I don’t know if the toilet can handle it. I may have to revert to the old school outhouse, and dig a crater in the backyard that runs directly into the sewer line.

He is great at getting the pee in the potty around shower time, but I am convinced this is just a result of the water running in the bathroom. If running water equals pee, then what equals poop? Do I need to push a Play-Doh fun factory in front of him to encourage his flow? Then, after he squirts the piss, my wife shovels chocolate into his mouth as a reward. If he ever releases a number 2 in the receptacle, I am going to have to give him a king sized snickers bar.

I’m of the “All in Due Time” philosophy, which selfishly means, “I don’t want anything to do with this right now.” I know, I know, I know…If I want to be a good stay-at-home dad, I should just bite the bullet and ask him ever 30 seconds whether he has to pee or poop. After all, at some point I would like to go skiing or to the beach and Nicole might not be here forever to save my ass.

(Please feel free to enlighten us all and leave comments with your suggestions, or silly potty training stories)