Funnily enough (well, today anyway), it’s my experience that inspired this particular principle … and it’s corollary: Boasting to your IN-LAWS that you’re done potty training exponentially increases the odds you’ll have to sit through dinner in pee-soaked khakis.
Like so many little boys, my kid loves stories that involve him peeing on me or vomiting on me or otherwise drenching me in some noxious substance that’s issued from his body. And I have legions of them, mostly because I never learned that essential trick of covering up the baby penis before undoing the diaper. As soon as air hit that thing, it was like someone turned on the sprinklers.
But as my kid grasped the finer points of waste disposal, we had fewer and fewer waterworks incidents till I was reasonably sure that those days were all behind us. The night I proudly made my big announcement, we were visiting my husband Stewart’s parents in New Jersey. We’d stopped for pizza at Klee’s Bar and Grill just off the boardwalk in (pre-Sandy) Seaside Heights — one of my husband and his parents’ favorite places at the shore. Sharing the news that Fletcher had passed this major milestone, I wasn’t exaggerating. Fletcher hadn’t worn a diaper for maybe a week. We’d spent the entire day on the boardwalk without incident. When your kid is 2 1/2, that’s a big frickin’ deal. But, of course, you know what they say: Pride goeth before a fall.
No sooner had I said, “We are D-O-N-E with potty training –” I mean the words were still hanging in the air between us — when, as if on cue in an SNL sketch, Fletcher wet his pants. And I mean soaked ’em. This kid is like a little camel. He can hold it for hours, but man, when he goes, it’s a flood. And … because he was sitting on my lap, he drenched my pants too.
I spent the next 20 minutes in the ladies room trying to dry my khakis with the pitiful hand-dryer they had on the wall. Fortunately, I still carried “just in case” clothes for Fletcher in my used-to-be-diaper bag that had evolved, post-potty training, into the schlep-all-the-other-crap-I-need-for-my-kid bag.
I, however, was S-O-frickin’-L. My “extra” clothes were back in my suitcase at my in-laws’ house, about two hours away. The best I could do was return to the table and finish dinner in damp peed-on pants. But I will say this: Even with the soaking, Klee’s still had the best thin-crust pizza I have ever tasted.