I. P. Freely

My husband and I are in the midst of a heated debate right now.  Basically we are of different opinions as to whether or not our son should always pee in the toilet.  Yeah, it’s getting pretty intense.  Couples have divorced over lesser issues.

My thought is that God has blessed our son with the means by which to pee wherever his little heart desires.  And so he should make good use of this gift by going in our bushes, our backyard, behind the power box down the street, by the fence of our local park, etc.  If we’re walking the dog, or getting ready to run errands, or anywhere outside a ten-foot radius of the house, and going back inside for him to pee would be far more inconvenient than for him to just drop trou and go right then and there, then far be it from me to interfere with his God-given ability to urinate outside.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve already had the car loaded up, the door locked, Elsa strapped in her seat happily sucking on a lollipop (since this is the only way I can get her to sit in her carseat without her pitching an absolute hissy-fit), and when I get ready to buckle Rollie’s seat belt he says, “I have to go pee-pee.” 

I know it’s trashy.  And it probably explains why our perennials haven’t come back in one particular spot of our flowerbeds.  But instead of herding everyone back inside so Rollie can relieve himself in the more appropriate place, I herd him to a corner of the driveway, where he is somewhat obscured by a scraggly bush, and I let him play fireman.  Who’s he hurting, really?  What’s the harm in having him go in the flowerbed instead of the toilet?  I mean, the fact that he doesn’t go in a diaper anymore (or the floor), is cause enough for me to encourage him to go somewhere, anywhere, else.  It probably saves me five minutes every morning, and believe me, those minutes add up.  Since we’ve been performing this little ritual I’ve probably racked up several hours.  In the time it takes to usher everyone into the bathroom, have Rollie do his business, shoo Elsa from the toilet, replace items she’s pulled out from the cabinet, pulled up pants, wash hands, wipe up soap that Rollie has managed to get all over the counter, mirror and floor, and lug everyone back out into the car…I’m sure I’ve saved myself enough time to read a book, give myself a pedicure, or do five loads of laundry (which is probably how this time was really spent).  I’d be crazy not to just let him whip it out and go.

Jeff disagrees.  His new favorite line to me is, Just because he can go anywhere doesn’t mean he should.  Jeff thinks that since I don’t have a penis, peeing freely is still a novelty to me.  And I’ll admit, he’s got a point there.  Jeff’s been watering plants and trees and cable boxes for years.  The fact that he can pee standing up, fully dressed and discreet, is just a way of life for him.  He’s never had to crouch, ass hanging out, clinging desperately to a tree trunk or car bumper, panicked and freaking out that someone is about to walk by and see a big pale butt looming in the distance, trying to hurry up and finish and trying to shake off the last bit, even though without TP this is an exercise in futility.  He doesn’t know how limiting it is to be born without the external equipment necessary to perform inconspicuous outdoor urination.  If I were to ever create a brochure for a sex-change facility, I would list “Peeing Standing Up,” as the top reason to undergo the procedure (with, “It’s Like Having Two Brains,” a close second).

I will admit lately I am getting kind of self-conscious with Rollie peeing wherever he can.  Like, the other day when I had family over, and while I was in the kitchen getting someone a drink, I looked out the window and saw Rollie in the middle of the backyard, pants around his ankles and his shirt pulled way up, watering the lawn like a decorative little fountain.  And despite the laughter erupting from my siblings, who were watching gleefully from the back porch, I couldn’t help feeling a little embarrassed.  Yes, it’s my own fault Rollie thinks the world is not only his oyster, but also his toilet.  Yes, I’m the one who taught him that he has every right to go when nature calls, despite his location or possible audience.  And yes, I am still impressed that guys can do this whereas Elsa and I are doomed to be forever typecast in the movie Crouching Pee-er, Hidden Potty. 

But perhaps the time has come for me to start teaching Rollie about a little word called discretion.  Maybe my instruction calls for a disclaimer: Yes, you have a built-in hose, and yes you can use it outside, under emergency circumstances.  Before you do, however, always make sure no one is looking.  Especially Daddy.

Note: This post is from a guest spot I recently did on my childhood friend's blog: The Hughes Triplets.  He and his wife have 2-year-old triplets and a 4-month-old daughter.  I can't even begin to imagine the blog posts I would write if I had triplets.....