Robbie hates doppers. Hates them. Takes them off every time he gets the chance. And, being the fabulous mother that I am, I use this as a bargaining chip. For example, I may have uttered, “Robbie, if you don’t want to wear a diaper, you need to go peepee on the potty. Then you c an wear Pull-Ups.” Or, “Robbie, if you want to wear Pull-Ups tonight, you are going to need to spit out your gum right now.” And, yes, it works.
However, because he is two, Robbie has pronunciation plans. He runs if he sees you coming at him with a dopper. And he squeals in excitement when he sees a “Plup”. Because, you know, that makes him a big boy. And, in breaking news, last night, he didn’t go to the bathroom overnight. So close!
In unrelated diaper news, I did not pack extra clothes for Robbie’s backpack today. You can imagine my surprise when I picked him up from daycare, he looked a little something like this:
Tonight, Zhining called to give me the full story. Robbie ate and ate and ate at lunch today. And, apparently, it went right through him. And his Plup. Those things really aren’t designed for blowouts. After all, it’s cold outside right now. And we don’t have pants-optional Monday. That’s reserved for Sunday with Daddy. Being a resourceful woman, Zhining did the only thing she could do. She put Robbie in striped velour shorts. Except they’re pants. For a nine-month-old little girl. Oy.