Well that really isn’t accurate is it? Is it toilet humor when no toilet was involved? Not to get too philosophical on people, but is it toilet humor because it involves bodily functions that produce waste like dropping the “duce”or “draining the snake?” What about farting? That isn’t really waste, but it certainly has a similar smell, right? Does that fall into toilet humor even though people rarely do it on or even near a toilet?
While Socrates is rolling in his grave I suppose I will get to the point. I had the pleasure of hanging out with my brother-in-law, Matt, and his brand new baby boy Mason, which is of course my nephew, the other night. He is my first nephew and I couldn’t be more proud, or happy. I love spending time with him, looking at him as he absorbs everything around him. Holding conversations with him that I know he can’t even begin to comprehend, but helps make me look less crazy because before it was just me talking to myself.
But what really made the other night special was for the first time ever I got to see a baby really work a turd out. Gross? Hell no, try hysterical. It might have been the funniest thing I have ever seen. I loved watching this little guy go from looking like a cute little sleepy baby transform into a 70-year-old man who is seemingly putting every ounce of effort into squeezing out a fudgecicle no bigger than my pinky finger. It was almost like watching that Michael Jackson video where everyone’s face is changing.
He would scruntch up his face and stick out his tongue and give it a good, “Ughhhhh.” Then he would relax, like he was building up for round two. I mean it was honestly like a boxing match. Some imaginary bell would ring and he and the turd would go to their respective corners and get some relief for the coming rounds. Matt and I would act as his trainers, encouraging him, telling him to show that turd who’s boss, not to let up, to stop playing around and just end this.
The turd was clearly getting encouragement of his own, because this “fight” would go on for at least 5 rounds. Grunting, face shriveling, and an all out abdominal attack, and that was just Matt and I eating the pizza we ordered. Mason was deep into the fight of his life to prove once and for all that he was stronger than the turd. All I could think about was Austin Powers , “Who does number two work for?” The answer by the end of the night would be Mason. But until then it would be a back and forth battle that was just too close to call. I had them even on my score sheet until…
Suddenly it was over. Mason delivered the knockout punch with a grunt that would have made a feral animal shy away. Oh and I could feel it, I could feel the vibration of the turd hitting the back of the diaper. Matt and I both looked down and laughed and then congratulated Mason on his hard-fought victory, raising him up like the champion he was. And as I looked at him I couldn’t help but notice the relief on his face. It was like he had just given birth to a brown baby boy. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had to be changed I think he would have just fallen asleep.
A goodnight and a great victory for the nephew. I just hope that he knows that there will be an endless stream of rematches from here on out. Good luck buddy, give ‘em hell!