I Almost Peed on My Son
I’m not burying the lead with this blog post. We’re going to get right into it because there’s no other way to tell this story than by starting with that headline. The other day, I almost peed on my son, specifically Parker, the one year old. First, some background information for you. Since Monica and I have had our own place, I have peed with the door open. It’s my house and it’s my bathroom, so that’s it. I can’t explain why I feel so entitled as to urinate with an open door. It doesn’t make me feel special or anything. It’s not as if the act of closing the door behind me is cumbersome or difficult. Before you ask, yes, I close the door when company is around.
This habit was only slightly curtailed when I had kids and then only when they started moving around on their own. Plus, it helped a bit when Oliver was potty training (which is an entire other blog post) to understand that everyone else used the toilet. I could sneak off for a minute to go take a leak while Oliver was otherwise occupied in the next room with toys or the TV. I do not have that luxury with Parker. If Oliver was a handful, Parker is a dump truck of mischief. The kid gets into anything and everything and he’s friggin’ fast. He’s climbing on stuff and crawling / walking every where. He also seems interested in stuff that Oliver never was, such as the toilet.
This brings us back to the subject of this blog post. The other day I get home with the kids. They’re playing upstairs. I’ve got a gate up to prevent Parker from falling down the stairs. This allows the kids to play in either or both of their rooms freely. I go into the bathroom through my bedroom and leave the door open behind me. This is something I’ve done a million times. Just as I start peeing, Parker is closing in quick. He’s crawling in his little Gollum style, with his left leg up and his right leg down in the traditional crawl pose. I’m in mid stream when he’s suddenly between my legs, grasping the edge of the toilet to pull himself to a standing position. By this point I’m screaming “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” and trying to tuck my junk back in my pants while also avoiding peeing on my young son’s head. This is easier said than done but I’m happy to report that he got away dry. I then picked up him, put him outside the bathroom, closed the door, and finished my business. I’m sure I’ll receive a therapy bill for this traumatic experience some time in the future. Sorry kid. I guess I’ll start closing the door more often.