I was at a big fancy work dinner at a big fancy club last
night. We’re talking chandeliers. We’re talking scotch. We’re talking a sea of chubby middle aged
white men making decisions that directly affect non chubby middle aged white men. It was glorious.
About halfway through my steak of panda and side of dodo
egg, my cell phone buzzed twice. The
Rick Hamann equivalent of “blowing up.”
I noticed both Diana and our sitter Hannah had sent me text messages in
all caps. The messages were identical:
LUCA POOPED ON THE POTTY!!!!!!!!
Yes, they both had eight exclamation points. I stood up in the club and shouted,
“Huzzah!” And then ordered my waiter to
throw my dish against the wall in celebration.
Yes! He did it. The Holy Grail of potty training. The Ark of the Covenant of diapers. The Crystal Skull of Childhood. The Last Crusade of…ah never mind.
I’ll be honest, I had my doubts. As you know, Luca needed a very specific set
of circumstances to make poop. Starting
with the Poopatorium and ending with complete and utter silence.
But with the invention of the Kindle, he’d been opening up
to the concept of going on the toilet.
And last night, right before bed, Luca announced that something was
happening and started doing his penguin walk.
Hannah, in an act of pure inspiration, threw him on the
potty. Luca began to wail in anticipation.
Suddenly, it happened.
He grew up.
Looks like we’re all going to Chuck E Cheese! I didn’t get home until after the boys were
asleep, but this morning when Luca walked down the stairs for his milk, I gave
him a standing ovation.
As he descended the stairs, he sang, “Oh yeah! Oh yeah!
Oh yeah!”
Oh yeah in deed.
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