Happy birthday, little man.
Today is my son’s birthday. He’s three years old. That makes me the father of a three year old. This parenthood thing is starting to get real. I’m excited and nervous as hell.
I know I’ve had it pretty easy. Despite my difficulties in learning to deal with a newborn, once I got into the groove things have been smooth sailing. From newborn to infant to toddler, my boy has been mellow and well-behaved as babies go. He’s curious, loves to laugh, doesn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body, and is in good health. Whatever complaints I have are trivial, and I count my blessings and good fortune every day that I get to spend so much time with my son.
But now he’s three, and that means it’s time to implement some big changes. His third birthday heralds the coming of the one thing I have dreaded more than anything as a father. More than temper tantrums, sleepless nights, and diaper blowouts. At three years old, my wife and I decided it would be time to start his potty training. I am terrified.
This is the crucible through which I must pass. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total annihilation. I will face my fear. I will allow it pass over me and– okay, I’m being dramatic, but you get the idea. I am not looking forward potty training. I am looking forward to the end results (no gross pun intended) where I no longer have to deal with dirty diapers, but I am not looking forward to the process. To the mistakes and accidents. To the inevitable horrible messes and emergency loads of laundry. It’s going to be so gross oh my god but this is what must be done to help my little man grow up.
Happy birthday, little guy. You’re growing up so fast. I hope this part of your growing-up goes especially fast, because the sooner you’re potty trained the sooner I can go back to marveling at how fast you’re growing up.
Oh man, this is going to be so gross.