My Dropping Maturity Level As A Parent Of A Toddler

20 months.

I’m so proud. Over the weekend someone found The Dadabase by Googling, “Is it ok for son to watch dad pee?”

I’m becoming the go-to guy for that now on the Internet.

Nice. Just call me Mr. Oversharent.

It’s inevitable that by the time your kid reaches my son’s age, you can only be so classy and sophisticated; potty humor is definitely in heavy rotation in the conversations now at our house.

By default, your maturity level as a parent of a toddler has to drop in order to do the job right.

Normally in public or on the Internet I wouldn’t use words like “pee-pee” or “poo poo” or even notice that one of those phrases sort of requires a hyphen while the other does not.

But as a parent speaking to other fellow parents, whether in private or in public, it becomes necessary to resort to these types of topics if I want to keep a natural and relevant conversation flowing.

(Yes, “flowing” was used as a pun just then.)

Beyond talking about the current color of Number One or the consistency of Number Two, I still find myself thinking like a much less mature version of myself.

Yes, I do myself a favor by trying to mentally time travel back to what my thought process was like in the early 80′s.

I have to. How else will I help my son keep himself constantly entertained?

Like actually encouraging him to play with a cup of ice water and a plastic spoon when we’re out at restaurants. It’s a great distraction for him while his parents attempt to eat.

Or during playtime at the house, telling him, “Look Jack, the chicken likes to ride on top of the pig, and the pig likes to ride on top of the cow, and the cow likes to ride on top of the horse.”

After demonstrating to my son how his plastic barnyard animal toys like to move around the farm, the way things obviously occurs in nature, Jack then repeats the moronic behavior I just taught him; animals moving across the floor like a vertical train.

Though technically, that’s not immature, it’s just plain absurd. It clearly denies gravity and physics; I’m pretty sure.

The point is this: The new version of normal once you become the parent of a toddler means you embraces potty humor and weird Willy Wonka kind of stuff.

This parenthood thing is turning into one long, strange trip. I think I see dancing bears in all the colors of the rainbow.

Never mind, that’s just my son’s coloring book.

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