You guys have had me use the potty chair for so long, so I'm confused as to why I'm in trouble now for my latest lack of self wetting. I gotta ask; why can't I pee in the corner?
So it's bedtime and I'm banished to my darkened bedroom, as if that's going to make me sleep. I may not be sleepy, but I'm that much inversely ready to explore my room, myself, and my development.
I'm developing and I'm ready to give up this silly, sticky, stinky and overbearingly humid diaper... I hope you readers understand. If not, then yucky on you people.
So here's how it went down. They put me to bed and locked me in my tower, as usual. I unplugged my nightlight, played with Mr. Potato-head (Sr.) this realized the humanly time to pass my milk and juice had come. What am I to do, thusly in deepest exile?
I lost my pants, which is easy to do when you take them off without the benefit of a mysteriously absent nightlight. Then I lost my diaper too... That's where the stem of my trouble first began to begin.
Unencumbered by the worldly tows of pants and diaper, I considered myself free to do what's natural and the very thing that has earned me such high praise in any daylight hours though, admittedly on the so brightly-colored kiddy-potty. Absent of a proper pee-style receptacle, I hit the corner... And that very same "parents corner" (didn't know it was specifically theirs) hit back, and hard I might add.
Dad found me crying unabashedly at the gate*, bare-bottomed and not bloody happy. He wondered the whereabouts of my curiously absent diaper and pants, and was most puzzled about the urinary puddle by the window. Uh-oh, it's trouble time, it seems.
I've always earned highest praise for not soiling myself, and as I've aged I've welcomed this change more and more. Yet this time it earned me an odd quantum of trouble, strangely.
Dad seemed so upset that I peed, however freely, in the corner of my confined prison-cell-style nighty-time room. "Don't wet yourself," that's what you guys taught me, right? I did good then, right? I had to break it on down to diffuse the daddy-sadness.
It took some serious back-pedaling, but I managed to talk the infurious daddy-man down. My cell don't got a latrine, so what am I supposed to do? My business, that's all I can do, isn't it?
If you're the ruling master or mistress over any number of junior journalists, I beg you for patience with them and their urinary explorations. My dad is a kind and benevolent ruler. He understood quickly the reason why I peed in the corner (because he demanded I not soil myself). Are you so patient with yourn? I hope you are.
Yes, I admit that I peed in the corner of my own bedroom. No, I didn't know it was wrong. Let's move on from this, okay?
Put your grown-up fears, angers and frustrations on hold. Think of what you're teaching and how us kids are left to interpret it. We're not dogs. We love you deeply in the exact way that you love us. We don't fully grasp all your adult concepts, specifically those pertaining to eating and the bathroom. Embrace our ignorance to just spank it.
Okay?
* the kiddy-retaining gate, of course.
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