Great Peekaboo Incident

David leaned in, hands framing his face, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “Peekaboo!” he exclaimed, his voice a perfect blend of enthusiasm and theatrical surprise.

Mitchell, a hulking figure whose size defied the typical toddler proportions, let out a thunderous giggle that seemed to shake the very foundations of the daycare room. His response was less a typical toddler’s squeal and more a seismic event of pure, unbridled joy.

The game continued, a delicate dance of anticipation and sudden revelation. David was a master of the craft, his collegiate energy perfectly calibrated to capture Mitchell’s attention. Hands would disappear behind a colorful blanket, then emerge with maximum dramatic flair.

But then it happened.

A sound. Silent at first. Then growing. A rumble that promised nothing good.

Mitchell’s face contorted, a mix of concentration and something else entirely. David’s spider-sense—honed through countless hours of childcare and camp counseling—began to tingle.

The smell hit first. Then the telltale signs.

Mitchell had not just passed gas. Oh no. This was a full-scale diaper disaster.

David’s mind raced. Protocol. Training. Everything he’d learned about childcare seemed to evaporate in that moment. Mitchell, oblivious to the carnage he’d just unleashed, continued to giggle, still fully invested in their peekaboo showdown.

“Peekaboo!” Mitchell bellowed, seemingly unaware that he was now sitting in what could only be described as a toxic zone.

David’s collegiate composure was being tested. His poker face—usually impeccable during late-night study sessions and intramural debates—was cracking. The game had to continue. Mitchell couldn’t know. The peekaboo momentum was sacred.

So David played on.

Hands up. Hands down. “Where’s David?” Disappear. “Here I am!” Reappear. Each movement a calculated effort to maintain the illusion, to keep Mitchell’s world spinning in blissful, messy ignorance.

It was heroism. It was survival. It was pure, unadulterated daycare warfare.