Today, my friends, we are talking about pee. Specifically, the tiny one’s inability to
effectively convey said pee from his body to the toilet. The Minion, it seems, has very shitty aim.
Okay, that’s not exactly true. The kid has a surprising trajectory and
range, given the right circumstances.
Put him outside with a target, and the kid could hit a bull’s-eye from a
good ten feet. He’s like that carnival
game where you shoot the water gun at the target to inflate the balloon. It’s impressive. But, give him a toilet a mere foot away, and
all bets are off.
Add to the fact that this same child, who can sit for HOURS and
build with Legos, apparently enters the bathroom and suddenly develops the
attention span of a housefly with ADHD.
He’s looking around everywhere. And
naturally, where his eyes go, the penis follows. So that means the pee follows. Suddenly I have some sort of demented Water
Wiggler situation in my bathroom. No
wonder it always smells like a gas station men’s room.
Just the other morning, I walked into the bathroom to
something so incredible, I thought I was seeing things.
Now, keep in mind, the total width of the bathroom is maybe
6 feet. And once you add in the toilet
sticking out, there’s probably only 3.5 feet of actual space between the wall
and the toilet. Still.
I walked in to find The Minion, casually leaning against the
wall, peeing into the toilet. The toilet
on the opposite wall. Over the distance
of that 3.5 feet. With terrible
inaccuracy. Pee was going all over the
place. And he did not give a shit.
Now, I realize he was sick and didn’t feel well. But damn, dude. No wonder I can’t ever get rid of the pee
smell. I screeched at him to pee INTO
the toilet. And, as a natural response,
he looked AT me to whine that he KNEW that.
And, as it always happens, when he looked at me, the penis
followed. So now, not only do I have pee
all over the toilet – and wall – but also on ME. It was a moment. And not a good one. He starts crying. I try to calmly remind him that we pee INTO
the toilet, not around, beside, above or below it. More crying.
I send him shuffling out and spend a good ten minutes scrubbing the
area. Gagging was involved.
So now I am THAT mom.
The mom that follows the kid to the bathroom to supervise and remind him
to aim at the actual toilet.
Repeatedly. And then remind him
to aim down, he does not need to look at me.
This is followed by the caveat that I know we generally make eye contact
when communicating. But when we are in
the bathroom and I tell him to not look at me, for the love of all that is
holy, keep your eyes on the toilet.
And this inevitably ends up with him saying that he can look
around and not pee everywhere. Then he
tries to demonstrate. And then we have
pee everywhere again. It’s like
Groundhog Day, the Urine Version.
I am dreading the teenage years. Though I am hoping that his aim will improve
somewhat. His father seems capable of
hitting the bowl, so there’s hope.
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