In my first two years of college, I lived in an all male dorm. In my last two years I lived in a fraternity house. For the past four years I’ve lived with a kid.
A 4-year-old boy is no different than a 20-year-old bro. Here’s why…
Frat bros and toddlers love to discuss bowel movements. There isn’t a time he hasn’t worked poop into a conversation. Either discussing it, mentioning it, or ending a sentence with it. He can even use it as a term of endearment. “Yes, I want to go to the park, Mr. Dad Poop.” He also loves showing off his BMs. My old roommates used to send their dumps via text message or emails with subject lines like “DON’T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU BUT…”
Frat bros and toddlers find the same shit funny. Last night, while putting his pajamas on, I bent over to pull up his pants and my face was directly in front of his ass. He said “oh dad, forgot to tell you” and ripped one in my face. He cracked up laughing. I was frozen in a half smirk/half angry dad face for thirty seconds.
Frat bros and toddlers take your shit without asking. My stuff just disappears. Especially things that could be, or were at one point, an actual toy. Action figures, post cards with pictures of Johnny Cash, mini-football helmets, comics all vanish into thin air. I suppose that’s my fault because I’m a man child, but the worst part is I don’t know where the hell the stuff could be. The house is small. His room is closet-sized. He only has six drawers and a closet. Is he digging into the wall, Andy Dufrense-style, and storing everything behind a poster of The Avengers?
Frat bros and toddlers wait until you’re busy to ask you shit. The second a phone goes to my ear or I sit down at a computer, it’s suddenly time to discuss every topic in the world. From Ninja Turtle movies to why it rains to the name of the restaurant that serves cheese sticks in a batting helmet. And that was just the shit my roommate used to ask. The kid asks questions I couldn’t possibly remember or have the answer to or would even want to answer. Last week, he asked why I got a tattoo. The real answer was to piss off his grandmother. I bought him McDonald’s as a diversion.
Frat bros and toddlers want whatever you’re eating. At least roommates will be sneaky about eating your food. You’ll come home and it’s gone. Kids wait for you to warm it up, put it on a plate, and sit down to eat. “What’s that? Leftover Chinese? I want some. I don’t care that I don’t like Chinese. I want it. Now. In my mouth. I’ll stand at your feet and open my mouth. Drop it in like a baby bird. I’LL SIT HERE AND SQUAWK ALL MORNING UNLESS YOU DO IT DON’T TEST ME I AIN’T GOT SHIT ELSE TO DO TODAY!”
Frat bros and toddlers could give a shit that you need sleep. Both will wake you up. One will cry because he pissed the bed…sorry….both will cry because they pissed the bed at 3am and other assorted calamities. And don’t ever try to sleep if you’ve got something important to do. They sense the need to sleep and do something purposely to wake you up. A roommate will have people over and party until the sun comes up. A toddler will just walk up to the baby monitor and scream until you help.
If you hear a loud noise in the middle of the night, the dumb ass fell out of bed.
Frat bros and toddlers stink up the place. I understand that grown men will smell but I can’t understand how a 4-year-old stinks a room up so much. It’s like he’s practicing for when he’s an adult.
Someone wrote on the wall. No one will own up to it. Toddlers can usually spell better though. The drawing on the wall is just to divert your attention from the fact there is a crack in the flatsscreen TV the size of the San Andreas fault.
You’re going to carry both out of a public place, kicking and screaming, and unable to calm them down. With roommates it usually involves liquor. With toddlers it’s got something to do with Skee-Ball.
One minute they’ve got all their clothes on. The next minute they’re buck naked and running from room to room.
You couldn’t get rid of either, even if you tried, and they’ll be a part of your life forever…or at least until someone else is dumb enough to live with them.
Chris’ next book, The New Dad Dictionary, is now available for pre-order. He only wishes his son farted in his face before he handed in the final draft.