Non-Breeder: The Toddler Has No Clothes
How the diaper-free movement tested my oldest friendship.
by Gina Zucker
May 10, 2007
"It sounds like a big commitment," Lopate said. "What
about accidents?" Emma's voice came back on the air. "Sometimes
you miss," she said. "If you miss, you miss! It's not the end
of the world."
A few weeks later, somewhat against our better judgment, my husband and I rented
a vacation house with Emma, her husband and Thor. Our collection of dogs — three
of them in all — came, too. In time, we got used to seeing Thor run around
in nothing but a T-shirt, Donald Duck style. Occasionally he'd wear snap-on
underpants that could be removed quickly — and, if it was cold, colorful
leggings that reached the tops of his chubby thighs. "Those leggings are
going to haunt that kid," my husband said the first time he saw them. Usually,
though, Thor went bare-bottomed.
At any given moment, he was being dangled over a shrub in the yard ("He
loves to go outside," cooed Emma) or coaxed into a squat behind a truck.
Sssss. Emma seemed to have an unlimited reservoir of energy to devote to Thor's
digestive system. She also appeared to possess a direct link to his elimination
needs, never missing a beat or tiring of the routine: notice "pee face" or "poopy
face" on baby, pick baby up, bring baby to receptacle, gutter I was seeing things I didn't want to see, frequently.or bush,
hold baby in position, aim, wait for result, clean up, set baby free to continue
pushing the lock button on friend's $200 car key.
I was seeing things I didn't want to see, frequently, and it was exhausting.
But I said nothing, choosing instead to exchange condescending glances with my
husband each time Emma or her husband whisked Thor off for his eighteenth al
fresco piss of the day. Thor's emissions drew attention from the dogs,
too, not surprisingly, but they seemed to lose interest after a while, accepting
him as another, hairless, member of the pack.
One afternoon, Thor was kicking it around the vacation-house living room, wearing
just the T-shirt. He tagged the chair holding his mother, hit the couch occupied
by my husband and me, then skirted the dogs lying on the floor to reach the entertainment
unit in the corner. He waved the remote control above his head, squealing and
pushing buttons.
"I have a bad feeling," my husband muttered.
"Don't worry," I whispered. "Emma never misses his cues."
Thor had just made his sixth or seventh circuit of the living room, slapping
the television with a cry of delight, when, abruptly, a turd appeared on the
floor. It looked as substantial as the piles dropped by our dogs every day. Only,
this pile was in the living room, and it had come from Thor.
"Oops!" Emma said, and shot out of her chair so fast that she and Thor had
disappeared into the bathroom before I could blink. "I'll get that
in a sec!" she called through the door. But I went ahead and fetched a
dog baggie and disposed of it myself. It wasn't all that different from
picking up dog poop on a walk. I held my breath, didn't look too hard,
and it was done.
©2007 Gina Zucker and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Gina Zucker is a writer and teacher living in Brooklyn. |
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