Parents have a lot of questions. A few that come to mind are: “Where can I find the volume control on my kids?” “How do I change a diaper in an airplane restroom?” and “Are you sure these children are really mine?”
I wrote the book, In The Beginning…There Were No Diapers, to answer those earth-shattering questions and many others. While I’m sure my book will be hailed by parents everywhere as “the best thing since puréed carrot and pea medley,” it’s currently raising a lot of questions. The most frequent is, “What does the title, In The Beginning…There Were No Diapers, mean?”
I thought about calling everyone who has purchased my book to reveal the answer, but sharing it here is quicker. Besides, my cell phone plan only provides 60 minutes each month before I’m charged for additional time.
The title comes from a deep theological insight I had while writing the book: God doesn’t change diapers. Ipso facto, in the beginning, there were no diapers. I took a philosophy course in college, so I’m pretty confident of my logic. (Maybe it was a psychology course but I’m sure it started with a “p”).
God created Adam and Eve as adults for a good reason— because he could. If you were all-powerful, would you choose to change diapers? I didn’t think so.
But, in addition to an aversion to diaper changing, there were a few other reasons God created Adam and Eve as adults. The early chapters of Genesis would have been a little different if Adam had been a 5 year old.
God: You may freely eat of every tree of the garden…
Adam: I don’t like those trees. The fruit is ewwie.
Adam: The bananas have brown spots. Can you make a fruit cocktail tree?
God: Please, let me finish… You must not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
Adam: That tree is ewwie, too. The fruit is green. Green tastes funny. Can I climb the trees? I want a tree house.
God: Okay, enough about the trees. Let’s try naming the animals.
Adam: I already did. I named them all Rocky. When I call them for dinner, I only have to shout, ‘Rocky, here Rocky, come on boy!’ Oh, look a stampede.
God: I’d really prefer that you give each type of animal a different name.
Adam: How about Rocky, Rocky II, Rocky III, Rocky IV. Maybe we could name all the girl animals Adrian— Yo, Adrian! Here girl…come on, Adrian!
God grew exhausted talking to young Adam and caused a deep sleep to fall over him, although it took a while because Adam insisted he was too big to take a nap and said he needed a story, and a drink of water, and his binky…
Based on my thoughtful analysis, I think you’ll agree that in the beginning, there were no diapers. If you have any other questions, feel free to contact me.
Just don’t call my cell phone. I’m saving my minutes to talk to my Mom.
My daughter, Annie, would have been a good match for 5-year-old Adam. All of our kids went through the potty-talk stage. But Annie raises potty talk to an artistic form. There are few instances in which Annie doesn’t insert the word “poop.” It’s quite an experience to hear your daughter singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” substituting the word “poop” for “rain” in the entire song. It’s no wonder the spider got off that water spout. Annie also sings an interesting rendition of “This Land is Your Land.” She’s really going to impress her preschool teacher when the class does Karaoke on Parents’ Day.
Annie’s potty talk is especially troublesome at bedtime.
“What story would you like before bed tonight?” I ask.
“A story about Blue’s Clues,” Annie says. “A story about Blue pooping.”
There are hundreds of books about the dog named Blue but I have yet to find one about Blue’s gastrointestinal tricks. I’ve scoured the library for “Blue’s Paper Training Adventure” and “Blue Marks Her Territory” but haven’t found either. Annie has also asked for bedtime stories about Barney the Purple Dinosaur pooping. I don’t even want to think about that.
I must admit, I do find some of Annie’s potty talk very funny. My wife does not. The National Science Foundation could spend millions of dollars studying the difference in humor between men and women. But, I already know what the study would find: Women outgrow potty talk at age 5, while men think the word “poop” is hysterical until the day they die.
While it’s clear most men find the word “poop” funny, nobody knows WHY they think it’s funny. The Human Genome Project is trying to identify all 30,000 genes in human DNA. As far as I know, they haven’t made it to the poop-humor gene yet.
Some readers may be offended to read this discussion about potty talk. They’ll wonder why I spell the word “poop” and don’t at least use something a little less disagreeable, such as “p**p” or “p—p.” I considered using the abbreviated form, but since “p—p” might be read as “pulp,” I was afraid I’d get a nasty letter from the Florida Orange Growers Association. The orange growers aren’t fond of people who make fun of pulp. So, in the interest of harmony with orange growers everywhere, please be assured that I have only the highest regard for the juice vesicles found in citrus fruit, whether they be of the tangelo or mandarin variety. And, furthermore, in a show of encouragement and support of citrus farmers, I will serve pure Florida orange juice to my family every morning for the next 12 months.
Except for Annie. She says orange juice is poopy. Yeah, I think Annie would have really hit it off with 5-year-old Adam!