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Monday, December 30, 2013

They Call It Potty Training

Life was going quite swimmingly. I had my routine. I woke up, traded in blank-blank (blankie) for a banana and some yogurt, played with my trains a little, went to see my friends at Bible study, etc.

And then, just yesterday, Mama had a horrible idea.

It’s called potty training.

I have to sit on a stupid piece of plastic for hours and hours. Why can’t I do what I need to do in my diaper? It’s worked well for two years. I’m set in my ways. But oh no, Mama says . . .

Don’t you want to be a big boy? Everyone uses a potty when they grow up. You can’t be in diapers forever.



But I looks around at the grocery store, and I find big person diapers. So you see, everybody doesn’t use the potty when they grow up.

I think it’s an inalienable right really, the right to choose to use diapers or the potty. I think my constitutional freedoms are being violated.

But do not fear, I have a plan.

The way I see it, Dada leans to my way of thinking. He said something about potty training being a lot of bother. (Yes, they call it training. Isn’t that insulting? It’s not like I’m a dog.)


So yes, next time Mama leaves me diaper-less, I’m planning a well-staged accident on Dada’s Ipad.

That should bring them around to my way of thinking.

Updates to follow

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