Yes. That means what you think it means.
Those fortunate readers who have not slogged through upwards of 5,000 diaper changes — ha! ya think I’m exaggerating! no, I AM ACTUALLY UNDERESTIMATING, I COUNTED — might think the above is merely an unremarkable, if slightly overshare-y image of somebody’s toilet. But that’s where you’d be sadly mistaken, my friend. The above is an image of victory! Triumph over recalcitrance! The onward march of youth toward their destiny, eventually fishing Mama and Baba out of the bowl of despair!
For months, nay, years, I would whimper quietly as I pulled the package of organic, free-range, fairly unbiodegradable diapers from the grocery store cart and placed it up onto the checkout counter. The larger the size on the diaper — 3, then 4, then 5, and then, finally and most humiliatingly, the dread 6 (and for you diaper-ignorami, they just don’t get any bigger than 6: next stop, Depends™ undergarments) — the more pitious my sotto voce whimpering. It got to the point where the clerks simply could not meet my eyes. I didn’t blame them.
The beloved and I swap grocery store runs weekly with our co-housing in-laws, and whenever I would write in the word “diapers” on the list for them, I would follow it with a little sad face. 🙁 We didn’t talk about it.
But today! Today, I strode into our neighborhood grocer’s, head held high, baseball cap cocked at a jaunty angle, just so, and I traipsed up and down those narrow aisles, and I hummed as I packed my cart full of all manner of items, NOT ONE OF WHICH WAS A PACKAGE OF DIAPERS! Ha! Ha ha!
You will forgive me the heady delerium.
I leave you now with a wee (!) musical selection, here. O hell, lemme just paste it:
[Note: youngsters ignorant of musical history and a bit impatient, give this quaint ditty at least 30 seconds. Rest of youse: turn yer monitors up to 10.]
Congratulations!
Jiminy Cricket in the house over here.
There is no such thing as oversharing potty independence! Our little guy is not yet independent, but I celebrate every step…my wife recently received a pic of him leaning over to inspect the pee in his little green potty (he picked the picture, not me!). 🙂 So congrats and enjoy your freedom! (The song had my dude whipping out the air guitar, and we are both Who-ignorant…great selection.)
Oh, babe, The Who is air guitar candy! Or more like meat, I suppose. And their “rock opera,” Tommy, from which this anthem is plucked, was the first one. Rent, et al., owe these chaps a debt of gratitude.
Pete Townshend, The Who’s guitarist/ songwriter, is usually ranked among the 10, or 50, or 100 “best guitarists of all time” by rock ‘n roll writers, and for good reason. So your dude is emulating a master. In his salad days Townshend was known to strum the guitar using a whole huge straight-arm windmill-type stroke which would often bloody his fingers. Didn’t stop ‘im. For all I know he still plays it that way, when the spirit moves him.
I never could make out the bloodied digits from the various mid-stadium vantage points I had on him (saw The Who several times as a high school student in the late 1970s; if my parents only knew what was transpiring at those venues I’d-a been limited to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir only). But all that sound you hear is coming from four musicians (bass, lead guitars, drums, & vocalist; for a second there I thought it was three; sorry, bassist John Entwhistle):
Oh: and thanks for the solidarity. You, too, will be visited by the accordion-playing toilet gnome one day, Natalie. Keep the faith.
Ah, how I look forward to that day! 😉 And thanks for the quick primer on The Who – our little guy has immaculate musical taste, and is definitely musically inclined…we’re already prepping for his request for guitar lessons in the next year or two. (Our donor is a professional musician, go figure!)
Yeah, the little peanut is not wearing diappers anymore… I can see how happy you are and no sad faces in the grocery list anymore…maybe when the ticket comes but thats something else. Yay for the little peanut 😀 he deserves ice cream :3