I should probably tell you, for posterity’s sake, that earlier this month – right after the new year – we had grand ideas of potty training Swee’Pea and TheMonk. We took them to Babies-R-Gonnaget-Us and we picked out a potty seat. We then picked out underwear. Swee’Pea chose Dora and Princess underwear while TheMonk decided on Lighting McQueen, Mater, and the whole Cars Movie gang.
We bought the little flushable “Todder wipes” that sit in their own colorful little tub for the extra wiping that was anticipated once our little ones decided to unleash their insides into the proper receptacle.
We even bought little stools to help them get up onto their porcelain throne.
And this might be a good time to mention that I was not looking forward to this at all. The thought of peeling clothes soaked in bodily fluids off a toddler while suffering through the sobs of anguish was more than I could bear. Besides, I hate it when I cry in front of the kids.
But I’m a good dad. And good dads always agree with good moms when they say, “I think we should start potty training the kids.” But my heart was not in it. This is the one time where I am really moaning about having twins. If we had just one, then it wouldn’t be such a big deal because the wife and I could trade off cleaning up the mess. We would have only one mess to clean up and the kid would decide when he or she was ready and we’d all do the potty dance and live happily ever after.
With two, it’s messier. With two, one might be farther along than another, not really be ready, but damnit is not going to miss the opportunity to wear underwear with a red car plastered on his behind. Two is more, you see.
But after two days of trying, 12 changes of clothes and three carpet washes later, we threw in the towel (We had to, it was soaked in urine).
So, no potty dances yet. Unless you count the one I did when my wife admitted defeat.
So, do I feel guilty that I wasn’t too into the potty training thing? Yeah, a little. I mean, I’m sure the other kids at daycare laugh at my kids and call them names like Diaper Dude and Daisy Diaper but it won’t be the last time my kids are embarrassed because of their old man.
At this rate, I wouldn’t mind just timing my work breaks to go and change diapers during Kindergarten. I mean, I wouldn’t want the other kids to make fun of them or anything. If only they made a size 10 diaper.
The title of this post is from an 80′s song. Can you name it?
(This is the hardest one yet, in my opinion.)
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