To My Wife, Who Hasn’t Peed On Either Of Our Kids,
Happy Mothers Day. I know parenting isn’t a competition, especially between spouses, however I think it’s safe to say you’ve got me beat. Probably forever. For my part, I’ve dedicated every waking moment to the support of you and our two little ones. I’ve sacrificed opportunities both creative and professional because they seemed too risky for someone in my situation. I’ve done everything I possibly could to protect our family from how mean the world is. But the reality of the situation is that only one of us has accidentally whizzed on one of the kids.
I know in the past I’ve demonstrated a lack of appreciation for the sacrifices you’ve made in becoming a stay-at-home mom, and I think you’ll agree I’ve made strides in being more understanding. I have to remind myself that the warm and loving home I return, nay, escape to every evening would be as dreary and upsetting as the 9-to-5 world without all that you do. You are my inspiration to achieve in a career that would otherwise be completely unfulfilling. I take pride in everything I do because I know you do too. Except for when I accidentally pissed on our son last week.
By virtue of your being with them constantly, they come to you for all of their essential needs. I’m relegated to a more playful role, like a gigantic action figure. I come home from work, they get ready to unload the last of their (and my) energy for the day by pretend karate fighting until we all get in trouble for some overenthusiastic playtime transgression/illegal super move that is usually mostly my fault. It’s maybe my greatest joy in life. Still, when I see the chance to make a meaningful contribution to their upbringing, I dive in headfirst no matter how ill-advised my approach may be. Which leads us, finally, to the reason for this letter which serves as my concession and congratulations in the “best parent of our daughter and son” race.
An explanation is in order. Two and a half years old is a perfectly normal age to still be potty training. I know there is a lot of pressure from other hotshot moms who tried some bullshit they saw on Pinterest and now their six-month-old is utilizing prostate kegels to control his blood pressure or whatever, but my little guy is fine going at his own pace, although it did occur to me recently that he has no concept of peeing on something. Wait, I think I worded that kind of awkwardly. I meant he’s never seen a piss stream and, as such, has no idea what he’s missing out on. So I figure if we get him that far maybe he’ll start using the big boy potty just for the novelty of peeing on stuff. Why not? Oh my god it sounds so much dumber all written out like that.
To be fair, you were totally onboard with the idea of a demonstration. We agreed that as long as we obscured his view (read: no wang) and just gave him a basic idea of what he was missing out on, he’d at the very least want to mimic his (stupid jerkoff) dad and “go with the flow (I’m so sorry)”. So there we were. Me, making sure this little boy I’ve somehow been allowed to spend time alone with is paying attention to my urinary routine; you, sitting on the edge of the bathtub snickering. I relaxed my shoulders, exhaled softly, and, you know… Went. And something amazing happened. I saw in my son’s eyes a look of universal understanding. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, his amazing little brain grasping a concept before my eyes! It was a uniquely beautiful moment in my life: all at once a triumph of biology, as this person I helped create inched further toward his potential as a human being, and a reminder of my own limitations of mortality and inevitable replacement by the very generation standing before me. And then he reached into the stream and I peed all over his arm before I was able to stop the show.
I won’t go into how painful it is to come to a full stop like that. But the deepest hurt was the feeling of letting everyone down. Especially our son, who got peed on. But also especially you, wife. Here was the perfect example of a time you needed your husband to step in and assist and I failed in the most spectacular way I can imagine. Maybe this feels like a hollow victory for you, considering the competition, but try to remember that this was me trying my very hardest, while you make not peeing on the kids seem so effortless. Way to go. I love you.
Tim
