Lessons in Toddler Behavior
The Oregon apartment sat nestled in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by the lush greenery typical of the Pacific Northwest. Soft afternoon light filtered through partially drawn curtains, casting a muted glow on the living room where Mitchell and Elliot occupied the space.
Elliot, a college student working as a specialized caregiver, stood with the practiced posture of someone who had dealt with countless developmental challenges. His attention was focused entirely on Mitchell—an adult-sized individual with the mental capacity of a two-year-old.
“We need to talk about your pamper situation,” Elliot began, his voice a mixture of professional concern and pedagogical intent. “You’re not pooping like a proper toddler.”
Mitchell looked up, his large eyes wide with a child-like attentiveness. His cartoon t-shirt hung loosely, his pamper pristine at the moment—but not for long.
Elliot demonstrated the classic toddler squat—a position perfected through years of observing and caring for young children. His feet spread slightly apart, knees bent at precise angles, body lowered in the universal position of childhood elimination. Each movement was deliberate, almost like a physical lecture.
“This,” Elliot explained, holding the squat, “is how a two-year-old properly poops. You’re an adult body, but you need to learn the correct technique.”
Mitchell watched intently, something clicking in his child-like mind. His large frame seemed to absorb the instruction, processing the demonstration with complete focus.
Slowly, awkwardly, Mitchell began to mimic Elliot’s position. His adult-sized body compressed into a squat—a strange, almost comical mixture of physical capability and childlike obedience. The movement was not graceful, but it was determined.
As Mitchell settled into the squat, his body began to respond. The pamper, previously clean and pristine, started to fill. Warm, soft, the mess spread across its surface—a testament to Mitchell’s newfound understanding of toddler elimination.
Elliot nodded, watching critically. “That’s how you do it,” he said simply. “Like a real two-year-old.”
The room remained silent save for Mitchell’s labored breathing. His loaded pamper hung heavily between his legs, a physical manifestation of the lesson learned.
Another moment in Mitchell’s unique journey—complicated, messy, but fundamentally about understanding and growth.