Life is what now? Eh?

The mercifully brief treatment of The Saga Of Number One Going Number One is that The Boy generally uses the toilet to urinate. It's called the potty, and he gets candy or a dime afterward, but with these exceptions his experience is much like yours (well, half of yours). When it's time for something more interesting, though (a sculpture, as we used to say, instead of a painting), he's not interested. He gets a diaper from the shelf, he puts it on himself, and then he ... stinks. Which is my cue.

I don't know if it was reaction to, or commentary on, that state of affairs. I don't know if if was standard Dada for Daddy, kid-level goofiness playing dressup. I don't know if it was simple wanton property destruction. All I know is that She called as she got off work yesterday, and as I went to get the phone, I walked by him putting a diaper on. Not too strange, not too shabby. After I hung up, I came back into the playroom and found him rooting around in a by now largely empty diaper bag. "Bleargh!" I shrieked. "Why are you doing that?"

As he answered, my eyes and ears both told me the same story at the same time.

"Because I put them all on!"