A few months ago, Piggle learned how to take his diaper off. After about a week of streaking (and painting my walls in toddler stink), he got over it and moved on to bigger and better things—like perfecting his fake cry. I figured I would be one of the lucky moms whose kid never developed a habit of flashing their bits at every possible opportunity. I was wrong.
Yesterday, Piggle decided to celebrate the first snowfall of the year with a happy-dance…in the nude. Who could blame him, right? Everything is better with your junk exposed. If I didn’t hate winter so much, I’d have probably joined in the naked-merriment…because, let’s face it, a weather dance–actually, any dance, really– is way more fun sans-pants. Of course, I have yet to invest in curtains, and aside from the neighbors questioning my sanity and the appropriateness of a family nude-a-thon, I don’t dislike any of them enough (yet) to scar them with the sight of my Post-Piggle Jiggle.
And so it was, the boy rang in a new season in style, and I cleaned the kitchen. Though, I sense a slight unfairness in our roles…
All was well chez nous. That is, until the crashing and banging, the result of Piggle shaking his money-maker, stopped. Just as suddenly as that, not a peep from the other room. Of course, being that he’s related to me and has likely inherited my dreadful sense of rhythm and balance, I fully assumed I’d find him lying in a very compromising position with a fracture to one or fifty bones and a concussion. Thankfully, this wasn’t the case.
As I made to peek around the corner, the boy came flying past me like a streak of lightning. You’d have thought his arse was on fire, judging by how fast he toddled by. And that’s when I knew. Something was terribly wrong. Nothing but a national crisis could have put an end to his enjoyment of flaunting his winky to the world.
At first glance, there was nothing oddly out of place. Sure, a toy-tornado seemed to have ripped through the room, but that’s an hourly occurrence around here. As I searched for the source of the commotion, I looked down to see Piggle, clinging coyly to my leg, with a look of triumph mixed with a dash of pure ‘brat’ on his face. In that moment, it clicked, and my treasure hunt was over. Instinct kicked in, and I knew exactly what I was looking for, where I would find it, and who the culprit was:
Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo!
I think Santa Piggle left you some shizzle for Christmas
Oh my and can’t say I have been in shoes with this one, but I have with the streaking.
Lily did a bit of streaking a few months ago and that is when I started good old potty training 101 around her for her.
It may be time to try it, if Piggie is taking his own diaper off and not liking the feeling of sitting in his own pee and poop.
Good luck if you do try, I have been there twice over now
HAHA! Danny did the same thing a few months back! This is classic. Make sure you keep this photo in a safe place so you can submit to his school’s yearbook committee in about 16 years.