What happened this week in our house is something I’m sure has played out in countless other households. If you’re a parent of a toddler, you’ll understand.

We’re deep in the trenches of potty training Hudson, our two-year-old. He’s almost mastered going “number 1,” but “number 2” is a different story.

Every night, we sit down for dinner together. And every night—like clockwork—Hudson gets up and wanders into the living room unprovoked. We know exactly what he’s doing. He’s seeking privacy. You know what I mean… He’s about to make a doody.

Tuesday night, right on schedule, Hudson excused himself. But this time, Leanna asked, “What are you doing?”

Without hesitation, Hudson casually replied, “Poopin.”

Leanna sprang into action, whisking him off to the bathroom in hopes of encouraging a successful potty mission.

Fifteen minutes later… nothing. Maybe it was stage fright. Maybe it was a false alarm. Either way, we were left waiting for a moment that never arrived.

Leanna made the executive decision: Hudson would “Donald Duck-it” for the rest of the evening.

For those unfamiliar with toddler life, “Donald Duck-ing it” means wearing just a shirt and nothing on the lower half.

Everything seemed fine.

I was watching the hockey playoffs. Leanna was on the phone with her mom. Hudson played with his toys while Owen kept gleefully pointing out his brother’s… well… anatomy.

Everything seemed fine.

Until it happened.

Hudson froze. He stood straight up. His expression transformed into the look.

Leanna and I jumped into action. She got to him first, scooping him up mid-mission.

It was too late.

The deed was in progress as she lifted him.

Hudson was three feet in the air when—
Bombs away!

Leanna rushed him to the bathroom, just in case another round was incoming. Meanwhile, I was left to deal with the mess on the living room floor. Not just a mess—a full-scale disaster.

And, as every parent knows…

Not every pee-pee time is a poo-poo time, but every poo-poo time is a pee-pee time.

Leanna asked me to place the doody in the toilet so Hudson could see where it actually belongs. I complied.

That’s when Hudson had the audacity to proclaim, “Daddy, I pooped in the potty!”

I looked at him. I looked at the floor.

“Technically,” I replied, “you pooped on the floor. I put it in the potty.”

Parenthood.

What a ride.

-Matt Webb