Time To Get Angelo Out Of Diapers

I realize that Angelo is not yet 3 years old but I am going to have to put my foot down after the pre-breakfast joy I experienced this morning. First I must set the stage. For those of you who are not acquainted with Angelo (a.k.a the Dr. of Destruction) he could care less whether his diaper weighs 4 pounds and hangs down to his knees. To the untrained eye one would surmise that he was trying to smuggle out a shot put in his 3T pants. Yesterday he was waddling around the living room when I asked him if he needed a diaper change. His response was "not yet." Imagine if you will a diaper-clad penguin waddling through the living room and you will get the gist of what I'm talking about. This has become something of a daily routine as he will hide or go to another room to take care of his business and then waddle in our midst as if nothing has changed. Normally a diaper change is no big deal, but this morning got out of control.

So as I was trying to make toast Angelo insisted that he "help." Help in quotations because when my children "help" it often takes 5 times longer than when I go it alone. So I have to pick up Angelo to put the bread in the toaster, since it resides at the back of the counter top for obvious reasons. About 30 seconds later I look down at my shirt after noticing that all-to-familiar odor and I realized that I had been branded. I immediately took off the shirt and doused it with Spray N Wash when I realized that my wonderful son would also need similar attending to. His clothes had to be removed and I then proceeded to change what had to be one of the worst diapers of my life...I used the better part of a dozen wipes. I told him that it was now officially unacceptable to use diapers and that from now on he would have to use the potty like Antonio. Unfortunately I have a sneaky suspicion that he didn't fully understand the severity of the matter.

Being the eternal pragmatist I insisted that he eat breakfast in just his diaper not wanting him to soil a clean outfit just for the sake of 10 minutes at the table. He offered no objections and ate his breakfast without issue. Interestingly with no shirt on he became concerned with his personal cleanliness, a feat not easily achieved by my son. It wasn't until I returned to the kitchen after donning a new shirt that he began his mischievous laughter after which he proclaimed that he would now "poop on that shirt." Clearly the importance of being potty trained that I had stressed not 10 minutes earlier totally eluded him. If you're scoring at home that's: Angelo 2: Daddy 0.

That was the last straw. I bid adieu to my children leaving them in the ultra-capable hands of my wife and sequestered myself in my office for the remainder of the morning.

Potty training will commence shortly! I am running out of excuses!