(Note for Americans and other exotic species: an on-line dictionary states "sarcasm" as thus:
noun
1570–80; < Late Latin sarcasmus < Greek sarkasmós, derivative of sarkázein to rend (flesh), sneer;
For those who are still not sure, 'irony' means 'sort of like iron'.)
On with the list:
1. As the man, you're not really a part of potty training until the crisis stage.
Like giving birth, it's something that Mrs. C has been talking about for ages, reading about on the Internet, going to the library, discussing with friends over Facebook, buying books to read and share about and make lots of comments to me which I can only respond 'mmm-hmm' to. Also like giving birth, the man can't really do much of anything about it until it starts, and when it starts, it really frickin' starts.
This is the crisis stage, where you're asking a small toddler who really doesn't know any better, and you really should, whether or not he needs to urinate into a small plastic receptacle.
'Do you need to pee?' ad infinitum.
You may have laughed at other parents who have done this. For you, however, there is no end in sight and suddenly you are subject to a two-year old's every whimsical whimsy. It raises stress levels to the point that you're so wound up you could be used to open up a nice bottle of wine.
2. The crisis stage goes back and forth from Defcon-5 to Defcon-1 with no intermediates.
You're either in a state of readiness - calm, poised, the delusional feeling that you've got your wits about you, until:
JJ: Poddy. Poddy.
Me: What?
JJ: *with urgent look on face* Poddy!
Me: Still don't understand you... oh, you want the potty!
JJ: Poddy!
Me: Yes, right, it's over there! *grabs child and practically throws him into the living room. Vaults athletically over the baby gate (ok, I just opened it and walked through, but it adds to the drama), throws the potty near to where the child is, rushes over, pulls JJ's pants down, JJ kicks the potty to one side while trying to sit down with pants around knees, deflects off my foot, ends up in potty hell. JJ sprays everywhere. Layla happily crawls through it. Fail.*
JJ: Pee!
Me: *sighs* Yes, pee.
Beforehand, we just had to have baby wipes everywhere for the accidents in the nappy. Now there's a towel for this stage in their childhood plus baby wipes and disinfectant spray. I feel sometimes that it would be a good idea to make up a Twitter account on my son's behalf and write stuff in there such as 'if I was a cat, then I have just claimed half of the living room as my own" or something to that effect.
3. Your home is no longer your castle.
It's been a long day. You've come into the driveway, you get out of the car, you open the front door, and you step into the miniature Vietnam that is the living room. You give the kids a hug and a kiss, you give the wife a hug and a kiss, who is currently preparing tonight's dinner and you find out what she's making and then you give a bigger hug and kiss, because it's something very nice indeed. You step back into the living room, glad that you're home and with your family.
And then, the sensation in your right foot starts.
It's sort of warm, but mostly very wet. You've just stepped in something in your family's house.
You, the head of the household, have just stepped into a puddle of toddler urine.
Congratulations, your life has changed again.
4. You get more exercise.
Not only with the 'do you need to pee' question are you working your jaw muscles, but out of a sense of obligation you're climbing the stairs every 15-30 minutes carrying an open container of fresh urine, dumping it into the toilet, rinsing it out and dumping that into the toilet as well.
It can sometimes tire you out, all this being ready for nothing, sudden panic, extreme and unforetold movements that you never knew that you could do in your old age, the 3 minutes of waiting and then The Climbing of the Stairs. Five years ago I had never really contemplated the fact that I would do any of this before we got married. It was never covered in the pre-marital. Maybe it's one of those things you just have to experience, while older couples snigger behind your back.
5. Your precocious two-year old child shouts 'penis' at the doctors when having to pull his pants down, having been taught the word by wifey. This could be very embarrassing.
'Nuff said, really.
6. You haven't found so many things to point out on your child's underwear before.
'Ooo, look, JJ! This one's got trucks on!'
'Brrm, brrrm!'
At this stage, you're pointing out different pictures on your toddler's underwear. This is not a phase that passes, because it then goes on to t-shirts, socks, trousers, jeans, the belt that goes on the jeans, shoes, PJs, everything. But it makes a great talking point with someone who, let's face it, can't hold a conversation for the life of him. It may escalate into other things, such as pointing out random car parts and making up stories about them, such as:
'And this is the doohickey that goes into the thingy and that makes the St. Elmo's Fire go round, and makes it go brum.'
'Brrm, brrrm!'
JJ's preference at the moment are the Bob the Builder Haynes manual and any Top Gear magazine.
7. Everything is hilarious.
Quite frankly, it can be very tiring for both parents at the time. With hindsight, you learn from it and you laugh at it as well. You never knew that either of you could move so fast. You never knew how much protection that Pampers gave you from certain odours. You never knew how funny an "L"-plated potty-training toddler unleashed on the world could be. This is just another stage of life for the entire family to go through.
Chin up, lad.
1.
harsh or bitter derision or irony.
2.
Origin:
a sharply ironical taunt; sneering or cutting remark: a review full of sarcasms.
1570–80; < Late Latin sarcasmus < Greek sarkasmós, derivative of sarkázein to rend (flesh), sneer;
For those who are still not sure, 'irony' means 'sort of like iron'.)
On with the list:
1. As the man, you're not really a part of potty training until the crisis stage.
Like giving birth, it's something that Mrs. C has been talking about for ages, reading about on the Internet, going to the library, discussing with friends over Facebook, buying books to read and share about and make lots of comments to me which I can only respond 'mmm-hmm' to. Also like giving birth, the man can't really do much of anything about it until it starts, and when it starts, it really frickin' starts.
This is the crisis stage, where you're asking a small toddler who really doesn't know any better, and you really should, whether or not he needs to urinate into a small plastic receptacle.
'Do you need to pee?' ad infinitum.
You may have laughed at other parents who have done this. For you, however, there is no end in sight and suddenly you are subject to a two-year old's every whimsical whimsy. It raises stress levels to the point that you're so wound up you could be used to open up a nice bottle of wine.
2. The crisis stage goes back and forth from Defcon-5 to Defcon-1 with no intermediates.
You're either in a state of readiness - calm, poised, the delusional feeling that you've got your wits about you, until:
JJ: Poddy. Poddy.
Me: What?
JJ: *with urgent look on face* Poddy!
Me: Still don't understand you... oh, you want the potty!
JJ: Poddy!
Me: Yes, right, it's over there! *grabs child and practically throws him into the living room. Vaults athletically over the baby gate (ok, I just opened it and walked through, but it adds to the drama), throws the potty near to where the child is, rushes over, pulls JJ's pants down, JJ kicks the potty to one side while trying to sit down with pants around knees, deflects off my foot, ends up in potty hell. JJ sprays everywhere. Layla happily crawls through it. Fail.*
JJ: Pee!
Me: *sighs* Yes, pee.
Beforehand, we just had to have baby wipes everywhere for the accidents in the nappy. Now there's a towel for this stage in their childhood plus baby wipes and disinfectant spray. I feel sometimes that it would be a good idea to make up a Twitter account on my son's behalf and write stuff in there such as 'if I was a cat, then I have just claimed half of the living room as my own" or something to that effect.
3. Your home is no longer your castle.
It's been a long day. You've come into the driveway, you get out of the car, you open the front door, and you step into the miniature Vietnam that is the living room. You give the kids a hug and a kiss, you give the wife a hug and a kiss, who is currently preparing tonight's dinner and you find out what she's making and then you give a bigger hug and kiss, because it's something very nice indeed. You step back into the living room, glad that you're home and with your family.
And then, the sensation in your right foot starts.
It's sort of warm, but mostly very wet. You've just stepped in something in your family's house.
You, the head of the household, have just stepped into a puddle of toddler urine.
Congratulations, your life has changed again.
4. You get more exercise.
Not only with the 'do you need to pee' question are you working your jaw muscles, but out of a sense of obligation you're climbing the stairs every 15-30 minutes carrying an open container of fresh urine, dumping it into the toilet, rinsing it out and dumping that into the toilet as well.
It can sometimes tire you out, all this being ready for nothing, sudden panic, extreme and unforetold movements that you never knew that you could do in your old age, the 3 minutes of waiting and then The Climbing of the Stairs. Five years ago I had never really contemplated the fact that I would do any of this before we got married. It was never covered in the pre-marital. Maybe it's one of those things you just have to experience, while older couples snigger behind your back.
5. Your precocious two-year old child shouts 'penis' at the doctors when having to pull his pants down, having been taught the word by wifey. This could be very embarrassing.
'Nuff said, really.
6. You haven't found so many things to point out on your child's underwear before.
'Ooo, look, JJ! This one's got trucks on!'
'Brrm, brrrm!'
At this stage, you're pointing out different pictures on your toddler's underwear. This is not a phase that passes, because it then goes on to t-shirts, socks, trousers, jeans, the belt that goes on the jeans, shoes, PJs, everything. But it makes a great talking point with someone who, let's face it, can't hold a conversation for the life of him. It may escalate into other things, such as pointing out random car parts and making up stories about them, such as:
'And this is the doohickey that goes into the thingy and that makes the St. Elmo's Fire go round, and makes it go brum.'
'Brrm, brrrm!'
JJ's preference at the moment are the Bob the Builder Haynes manual and any Top Gear magazine.
7. Everything is hilarious.
Quite frankly, it can be very tiring for both parents at the time. With hindsight, you learn from it and you laugh at it as well. You never knew that either of you could move so fast. You never knew how much protection that Pampers gave you from certain odours. You never knew how funny an "L"-plated potty-training toddler unleashed on the world could be. This is just another stage of life for the entire family to go through.
Chin up, lad.
