There is a two year old in the middle of my living room with his pants around his ankles trying to remove his diaper while alternating between crying and saying I don’t want a diaper. Wait, there’s been a change. The pants are now completely off. And as we watch without watching the child figures out how Velcro works and presto, the diaper is off as well. My anger and annoyance is now changed to stifled laughter. It’s hard to feel angry with such a small bare tushy in the room. The kvetching has momentarily come to a standstill. Mission accomplished. I take my diaper off. He says. I take my diaper off. I’m still ignoring. And then I ask. What are you going to do if you have to go to the bathroom? A momentary pause. And then a new mantra. I no want socks. I no want socks. These he definitely doesn’t know how to remove so this may go on all day. Or until there is a big wet spot on the carpet and I pin him down and re-ensconce him in the garments he needs to rejoin humanity. I’m sure bottomless two year olds are de rigeur but I’m still not used to the workings of a used-to-be-well-behaved-toddler-who-discovered-the-joys-of-spilling-bottles-of-pepper-on-the-kitchen-floor-and-ice-skating-in-them. I’m not sure if this blog post has a point, it probably would eventually, but his brother is squeaking in the next room so I suppose we’ll never find out.