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Middle Management Turn your 3-year-old son's potty training into aerobic exercises! by Jimmy Patterson
I ran into an old friend at a department store recently. We were both there for the same reason, exchanging Christmas apparel that didn't exactly fit. He was holding some clothes for his 2-year-old and what looked like a sweater that he had received during the holiday season. One of those sweaters that shouts out "You're right. It's from mom!"
"Exchanging something?" he asked.
I supposed I looked a little goofy standing there with a leather belt in my hand. I nodded.
"My wife bought me a belt for Christmas and the ends don't even meet. Aside from having to stand in a return line, I'm having to emotionally deal with what comes with going up about five belt sizes."
He laughed.
I smirked.
It'd been a while since I had seen him, so standing there with an undersized belt in my hand was an immediate indication that in the time that had passed since I had seen him, I had, well, blimped out. I had become Puff Daddy.
Obviously, I have grown entirely too emotionally attached to the couch. The remote control fits my hand like a bean bag chair fits my backside. And the years just rush on by.
Immediately after retrieving my new Jackie Gleason designer belt, I headed to the bookstore, scouring the aisles for quick fix books that would magically not only get my middle properly reduced, but also teach me how to eat right, how to lift weights, how to properly aerobicize. If I was lucky, I would be able to purchase such a book without once having to see the word thighmaster. I'm a guy. I don't care about my thighs. I don't want a tummy tuck and if I ever have buns of steel, somebody just shoot me.
All I want is to be able to cinch up my Pavorotti brace to where it used to be when I wore a belt that Barney Fife could've worn.
I walked out of the bookstore, frustrated but not less for the wear.
I got home, shoulders slumped over, looking like I had just seen my best friend while exchanging a belt.
I plopped down on the couch and Mrs. P scampered in. She asked what was ailin' me.
"I'm fat, and I'm 38. I need aerobics. Now."
About that time, The Boy, our 3-year-old Herculean specimen of a son, called out that he needed to go potty. I got up, turned the light on for him and sat back down. Next thing I knew, I was back in the bathroom, tending to him. Bending, lifting. You know the routine. A kid sheds his diaper and it's more work for parents than diapers ever were.
And then I thought ... hey, maybe this is just what I need. My youngest kid is in constant need of assistance in the bathroom. Perhaps this in and of itself is aerobic in nature.
Yeah.
I'm on to something here.
See what you think. I think it could be a goldmine. I could make a video and retire.
Helping your 3-year-old son go potty takes so much physical activity, it could be a new form of aerobics. I'm serious.
We as parents have to help them with their pants on and off, physical exertion that much resembles the touching-your-toes exercise we've all been doing since we ourselves were 3.
For those 3 year olds with short legs, and there are plenty, it is often necessary to lift the little tykes onto the toilet seat. And at 25-40 pounds, do that 3-4 times in a day and, well, there's your weight reps.
Assuring that a child has proper self-esteem while going potty is also necessary. In order to do this, it's necessary to carry out unless you get down on the child's level, which necessitates squatting. There's your deep-knee bend.
On those rare occasions when your child has a stomach bug, it's often necessary to actually lift the child and rush him to the toilet. This works the lungs much in the same way jogging while using dumbbells.
Through all these possibilities, the one muscle group that will be put into action most often is the muscle group in the legs. You'll know that for sure the next time your 3-year-old boy zips down the hall shouting, 'GOTTA GO POTTY NOW DADDY. PLEASE TURN ON THE LIGHT. PLEASE HURRY. HURRY DADDY, HURRY. TURN ON THE LIGHT NOW DADDY!
Carl Lewis wishes he could sprint so fast.
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