Woog, smiling, hands on hips as though to say, "Survey my masterpiece...take it all in. You are in the presence of greatness." Hand to forehead, I let the entirety of the mess ooze in. And like the discovery of a leaky diaper in the check-out line at Costco, I could only sigh.
Every stitch of clothing, including two stuffed Rubbermaid bins of outgrown Woog wear, every Toy Story Pull-Up, countless books, blankets, animals, and endless paraphernalia, strewn (rather festively)in a sea of all that is Woog's Room.
And there, standing atop his egg chair, a wild-haired boy wearing Elmo underpants. All fine, except when I put him down for a nap he was wearing a Toy Story Pull-Up.
"Where's your Pull-Up, Woog," I questioned.
"I put it in the dirty," he retorts, pointing a chubby finger towards the hamper. "I no need it. I pee pee here," chubby finger now pinpointing a wet spot next to his dresser where the diaper genie used to live. (Side note: diaper genie was removed from room because we'd found it in one thousand pieces after a particularly violent timeout session. Big Daddy had to study the downstairs genie to figure out how it went back together.) He continues, "But I no pee pee in Elmo."
"Ok. (Breathe deeply) Let's clean up the mess and the pee pee," I say exhaling audibly. Woog mimics, "Ahhh."
As I crouch to scrub the pee spot, Woog repeats that he hadn't pee peed in his underpants, which is good, great in fact. As I am praising him for staying dry he circles to the center of the room, the epicenter of destruction and shouts, "I no pee pee in Elmooooo," and half squats to pull off his underpants, revealing...another pair of Elmo underpants!
"See, no pee pee in Elmo," he squeals with confidence. Squat and tug, revealing...another pair of Elmo underpants!
One final time, squat...ta da! Four pairs of dry Elmo underpants all at once and with a bonus surprise at the end- the final pair of Elmo underpants was on backwards with a chunky left butt cheek hanging out.
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