"Go to the toilet, then!" I yelled back.
He ran to the bathroom trailing urine through his pants.
Another time, I heard him wailing, "I have to do wees." I was outside. When I entered the house a minute later, he had altered his declaration to, "I did wees." He screamingly restated, "I did wees," until I told him to stop yelling. He was standing in his own liquid waste.
In April, he turned three. By then, he was relieving himself in the bathroom, but rarely inside the toilet. His urine daily ornamented bathroom walls and floors. His secretions garnished any hanging hand towels. He would sit on the toilet seat and piss on the seat, but not inside the toilet bowl.
"You have to make sure your doodle aims into the bowl," I informed him, "Otherwise, your pee goes everywhere."
That was after I had walked into the bathroom because he was screaming my name. He was sitting on the toilet but couldn't control his penis and the direction it was spurting pee. A stream had attacked my legs. I smelled like I had intentionally bathed in urine.
The three-year-old considers himself a big boy. For seven months, he has told me, "I'm a big boy. My baby is a baby." He has a ten-month-old brother. This month, he realized that real big boys and real men pee standing up. Only little boys piss sitting down.
One afternoon when I picked him up from kindy - New Zealand's version of American pre-school - he whispered to me, "I did standing-up wees." His face looked like it had been injected with happy pills. His skin glowed. Five minutes later, I grasped that his face was just wet with pee from his roaming penis.
This morning, the three-year-old screamed, "I'm doing standing-up wees, I'm doing standing-up wees, I'm doing standing-up wees," as he sprinted for the bathroom. His mom was standing next to me. She looked like he had just confirmed that he had raped a sheep.
"Don't do wees standing up," she yelled, chasing him, "Don't do wees standing up."
I followed her, naturally.
We entered the bathroom to see his underwear and pants at his feet, marinating in piss. Pee eclipsed the bathroom. It looked like the atomic bomb of piss had exploded. Everywhere.
The mom sighed and said, "You're not big enough to do standing-up wees."
"My doodle's tiny," the three-year-old replied.
"Yes," his mom agreed. "Daddy says you have to wait until your doodle's longer before you do standing-up wees."
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