It was two days after Thanksgiving. I was glad to be at my brother’s house, playing board games and video games, spending time with my niece and nephew, and overall relaxing.
The morning after we arrived, I found out my two year old nephew, D, was starting to learn how to figure out when he needed to go to the bathroom. When I woke him, taking him out of his crib, he grabbed his crotch. “Do you need to be changed?” The boy nodded after getting over the excitement of seeing his uncle. It had been two or three months since I saw him last.
Three days later, two days after Thanksgiving, it happened again. We were preparing dinner when he grabbed his junk. He pulled on my sleeve, “Pau!” He has issues forming the l. “Pau!” He grabbed his crotch more emphatically.
“Do you need a diaper change?” He shook his head. “Do you need to go potty?” He nodded. Crap.
He took off towards the bathroom, while all the other adults, the ones who have delt with potty training before, were busy. I followed and he pointed at the training toilet. I peeked out of the bathroom. “Mom! Mom!”
“What?” Her hands were ripping apart a beef roast.
“He wants to poop on his own. What do I do?” Time was of the essence. He could have an explosion in his little pants at any time.
“Well, how do you go to the bathroom?” Thanks mom. “Pull down his pants and diaper and put him on the toilet.”
I rushed to remove his Toy Story pj pants then fumbled with his diaper. Every time I removed a tab, it flung back to re-adhere. Blast! He held the tab the third time. He was helpful when I changed him previously as well. Bright kid.
The diaper dropped and I already knew it was too late. A foul, brown cake plopped down with it. Behind me, mom said, “Still get him on the toilet.”
D sat of his own will. But he angled his legs. Mom said, “Get his legs straight or he’ll pee all over.”
“D, can you bring your legs forward?” He did. But his pee pee was still aiming out, not at the little splash guard meant for his little guy. “Sit back, D. Come on, man. Please.”
He sat there, staring at me. “I’m sorry,” I said. Then I pushed down his pee pee to make sure he went in the training toilet instead of all over the bathroom. And me.
A weak grunt came from his tiny lips as it scraped plastic. Brow furrowed and his eyes were wide. There was not hate in his gaze. Just betrayal. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He stood up, streaking poop along the seat, poop that had been dispensed some time ago. He went to put on his pants. “Wait,D!” It was too late. Little man pulled them up, and the inside was colored brown. The battle was lost. And I had betrayed him.