Pee Pee Dance

There are many lessons to be learned over the years when you are raising three sons. When my husband and I had our first son, everything was so new to us. We did all of those things that new parents do. We bought all of the new and improved baby gadgets and paraphernalia. We made our home so safe, that we could no longer open cabinet doors, plug in an appliance, or lift the lid on the toilet bowl. We had done everything right. We did everything possible to provide the safest and cleanest environment possible for our little bundle of joy.

Then we had not one, but two more sons. By the time that we had our third little boy, we had removed all of those annoying safety locks from everything and duct taped those poorly made, inconvenient, modern convenience, baby gimmicks back together. You see, there comes a day when you realize how ridiculously you behave when you have your first baby. It was our oldest son who taught us that lesson.

It was a late evening, when he was just four and a half years old. My son would, on occasion, sleepwalk when he was very young. My husband and I were sitting on our front patio chatting with some friends. The front door was wide open, giving us a clear view of the entry hall and closet. My keenly aware Mommy radar detected what sounded like a panicked scrambling of little footsteps. I looked down the hallway just in time to see my son coming down the stairs in a rush with a glazed over expression on his face. I turned to my husband and told him that the child was sleepwalking and to please carry him back up to his bed.

My husband did what so many parents do. He decided to finish his conversation, being as this hardly constituted an emergency. My son rounded the corner from the stairs, and I noticed that he was doing what every parent recognizes, and we called “the pee pee dance”. Uh Oh. Now, we have one of those safety latches on our entry closet door because that is where we keep the umbrellas. Heaven forbid one of our little darlings should pinch their finger in a deadly umbrella.
My son manipulated that lock in under a second like he was David Copperfield. He flung the door open, and began pulling his pajama bottoms down. Now I am up, but my husband (who is still chatting away) is closer to the door. I yelled for him to get up and “get the boy!” NOW he pays attention, and gets up just in time to see our precious son, for whom we took every precaution to keep safe, peeing in the closet and all over his father’s briefcase and shoes. My husband stuttered the only words that he could muster up, “BOY! BOY! HEY!....WHAT THE…..BOY?” My son looked up at him and said, “Oh, hey Daddy. I had to pee. Good night, I love you.” Then he scratched his rear end, and toddled off to bed.

My view from the patio was perfect. It was as if I had front row seats to the greatest show on Earth. My husband’s reaction was a contorted expression that appeared puzzled, intrigued, angry and shocked. It was like watching a primate who has been given a toy filled with peanut butter, but he just couldn’t figure out how to get to it. He looked from the lock on the door to his briefcase, clearly bewildered by how this could happen. When I recovered from my laughter, I looked at my husband and said, “Don’t ask me, he is your son!” He said, in a very defiant voice, “NO! That is YOUR son!” I laughed even harder, and replied, “Ok fine, the kid that unlocked the door is my son, YOUR son peed on your briefcase!”

The following day, we removed all of those adult proof safety locks and outlet covers, and gave up the battle. My four year old son was able to undo that lock in his sleep, even though he was so disoriented that he thought that the closet was the bathroom. Kinda puts it all back into perspective, doesn’t it?

-Roberta Heart