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I love special days. Especially ones that celebrate me. Like birthdays. I don’t mind if you want to make a fuss over me, I won’t stop you. I might pretend I don’t want anything or a big deal made, but secretly I really do. I just don’t want to come out and say it. But since becoming a father, I’m finding I get a lot more excited for Father’s Day than I do my birthday.

For a birthday, all you need to do is be alive for another year to celebrate. Anyone can do that. But for Father’s Day, I feel like I earn my gift. All the diaper changes, meals cooked, baths given, stories read, forts built, art classes, story time, picnics, play dates, playground time, meltdowns soothed, being spit up and puked on, I deserve it.

For Father’s Day, I have no problem announcing exactly what I want. And as far as gifts go, I don’t have big wants. I’m just talking “I want to go to a brunch buffet and eat until it hurts,” or “I want to go out for ice cream!” I’m pretty simple. It’s really just food I want. But this year, I’m asking for something even more simple. All I really want is some peace. You know, when I “have to go.” Just a little privacy. A little poop in peace, or P.I.P. as I call it.

If you’re a parent with a little one, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The one place you thought was a private place, a safe zone, is no longer. Whatever boundaries you had before becoming a parent are now gone. I can’t go to the bathroom without someone pawing at the door, asking me what I’m doing, or staring at me.

The kids can both be playing quietly, blissfully oblivious to my presence when I’ll sneak away to have a private moment. But it never fails. Within seconds I hear little foot steps and see the door knob start to turn.

Nooo! Like in a horror movie, I’ll hold my breath and not make a sound as if I’m escaping the wrath of Michael Myers. Maybe she won’t be able to open the door, or she’ll move on thinking I’m somewhere else.

But no, soon she’ll barge through the door asking, “Daddy, what you doing? Can I see?”

“Ellie, shut the door. Can I have some privacy please!?” I’ll plead.

“Sure!” she’ll say as she closes the door behind her and smiles. At which point she’ll walk up to me, hold my hands and stare into my eyes.

This is not happening. GO. AWAY!

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I now have a personal toilet flusher too. And all those celebrities think they are special because they have a personal umbrella holder. They’ve got nothing on me. Having a P.T.F. (personal toilet flusher) is not all it’s cracked up to be though. God forbid I flush the toilet without consulting my P.T.F. first. Literal meltdowns have occurred from flushing the toilet by myself.

“DADDY!!! (WAAAA!!!) YOU FLUSHED THE TOILET!??? I WANTED TO DO IT!!! (WAAAA)!!!

Ugh. All I want is to P.I.P.

Like I said, I don’t need anything fancy for Father’s Day. Just please, please, just for today, stay out and leave the door closed.

 

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