Called “elimination communication,” it allows your little one to run around bare-assed and Pamper-free—as long as you’re two steps behind with a mop and bucket. Elimination communication is supposed to be more natural and eco-friendly—though some parents report getting peed and pooped on frequently—and it requires infants to signal a grown-up whenever they need to use a bathroom.
According to The New York Times, many caregivers “like the thought that they are rediscovering an ancient practice used in other cultures . . . but mostly, they say, they like feeling more in touch with their babies’ most intimate functions.”
Hey I love “getting in touch” as much as anyone . . . but I believe we should all do it a safe pooping distance away. Ancient cultures are all well and good, but what the Mayans and Greeks had over us in architecture and math, they lacked in Velcro and water-resistant Cookie Monster-printed plastics.
I have a 2-year-old son, he keeps his diaper safely fastened and there is crap all over my house. If I let him run around naked, there would be actual crap all over my house.
There is no level of spiritual awakening or emotional enlightenment that is worth a house full of kids swinging around like stinky-covered Tarzans. Parenting is hard enough without getting shit on, which, if you’re a mom or dad, you know is bound to happen at some point anyway.
And just how presumptuous do you have to be as a human to think the rest of us are OK with you potty training your kid naked in public for the next half decade? I can barely withstand seeing my friends with their shoes off, let alone total strangers letting their pants less infant lean against a food court trash bin and defecate.
Just imagine: You’re at a Chili’s with friends trying to decide whether you should get the chicken or steak fajitas . . . The next moment the world’s most hipster wannabe Super Mom, dressed in Spanx and a florid aura of condescension, is waving some panicked naked toddler who is machine-gun pissin‘ every stricken patron like a cross between a T-shirt cannon and a Rain Bird sprinkler.
What part of evolving as a culture requires us to do everything like our ancestors? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but human survival pretty much sucked for the last 5,000 years. There’s nothing to “rediscover” from our “ancestors.” In the old days, people use to live until they were about 13 years old and then they died from a skinned knee or a cavity, or a pterodactyl just swooped down and carried them away.
If you had told a young mother in the 1800s that someday there would be the invention of disposable diapers . . . OHMYGAWD. She would have thought she won the lottery.
People with real problems don’t have time for elimination communication. They’re too busy trying to make rent and get by.
Elimination communication sounds exactly like the kind of thing a bored, upper-class, stay-at-home housewife comes up with, because nobody else has 18 hours per day to crawl around on their hands and knees waiting for something to come out of a child’s butt.
Learn a new language. Become an amateur ventriloquist. Buy a friggin‘ pony. Fill your days with anything and everything else. But don’t screw up your kids with some cockamamie idea that you’re going to somehow build an emotional bond by helping them hold their poo in faster.
As adults, half of our problems originate from the fact that our anuses are packed tighter than a Corn Nut. We’re constantly holding everything in, pushing everything down, pulling everything tighter.
Let your kids go freely and effortlessly into a diaper for as long as they possibly can. Don’t inhibit it. Don’t make a big deal about it. And for god’s sakes, don’t pick up your child and wave them over your head in public like a tiny, leaky version of the Lion King.
Talk about eliminating communication. Your child will grow up to never speak to you again.