Last night it dawned on my wife that living with guys is nothing like living with ladies. She lived with her mother and sister for most of her life and had no clue what it would be like to live in an apartment where she is outnumbered by dudes. Now as our boy grows and matures she’s starting to see what she’s in for. We pick our noses, fart and laugh about it, belch and try to make the other guy smell it, and are generally amused by our pudgy bellies. My wife joins in on occasion, commenting on stinky breath and smelly feet in her adorable playful way, but aside from that it’s a house of testosterone. The wife can deal with most of the boy stuff, except for one: bad aim.
I was well into my teens before I cared about my aim, so I let the wife know that she had a long way to go before the toilet seat would be regularly dry. I lived with three brothers, so I learned quickly to not plop down onto the toilet without running a few sheets of TP over it, or better yet, making sure it was there. My mother understood the rules too, but she sometimes forgot. And we all knew when she failed to follow the unspoken rules of living with boys because she would yell out “who peed all over the toilet seat?” or “I fell in!” Ahh, the good ol’ days.
Now it’s Devin’s mother’s turn to enjoy raising a boy, though he’s a little bit of a special case. Over the last few weeks we’ve had some bizarre late night encounters with the boy. He’s really good at getting up at night and going to the bathroom. Nine out of 10 times he goes without incident, which is awesome.
Then there’s the one in ten.
We have watched him walk into the hall, turn around go back into his bedroom, then pee on his pillow while standing alongside his bed – all with his eyes closed. We had to redirect him and send him to the bathroom because he was so confused and tired. We’ve had to drag him out of the kitchen for the same reason. But the real issue is that in the bathroom he pees everywhere when he’s half sleep, and he pees just about everywhere when he’s wide awake. We have a rug that we may have to burn. As a father, and a former offender, I have promised that this weekend I will work on aim with my son. It’s the least I can do.