Diapers

One of the unfortunate disadvantages of having so many bundles of joy bouncing around our lives, is that occasionally a detail or two will go unnoticed. One of those details, overlooked somewhere between the potential peanut butter face paint for snack and the narrowly averted toilet eruption by an over zealous wiper, was Daniel's post snack attire, but, for the sack of five pounds of Greek Meatballs in which I was invested up to my elbows, this detail seemed hardly significant. That is, until Daniel realized the absent shirt and shorts were, until now, the only thing standing between him and a whole new experience of freedom beneath those two funny Velcro tabs.

Hoping his diaper ditching might be the first signs of a newly developing appreciation for the tiny tot pot, periodically presented with dramatic ooo's and ahhh's over that last few months, I began showering his exploits with praises for my big boy going to use that wonderful new potty, but unable to deceive myself beyond the devious grin spread across his little face, I, as any reasonable mother with a fist full of raw meat and a father surely in ear shot would, bellowed, as my little nudest bolted from the room, "you better not put any pee in my house, Mister!"

By the time I caught up with him, he was standing on the front porch, grinning ear to ear, by an exceptionally large puddle for such a sunny day, obviously pleased with himself for listening so well.