The Naked Jaybird Deuce

There are some elements of parenthood that just can't be over-analyzed. Despite what the doctors say, what the books and magazines advise, sometimes parents should be compelled to throw caution to the wind and let the kid do what he wants.
Within reason, of course. No sofa surfing. No playing in the fireplace, especially when it's lit. Hey, there are some standards in this house.
But, sometimes a kid has to do what a kid has to do, and every parent who once was a kid can't resist but to connect to it and just let it go.
Splash in the bath. Sing out loud in the grocery store. Laugh at the funny looking old man in the restaurant. Go for it while you're still cute and have a complete inability to hate or descriminate or be ashamed.
Kind of like running around bare-assed naked before bath time. In another year or two it will be bratty and frowned upon. At the ripe old age of 21 months, it is irresistably cute and innocent, just the way God made him.
And until today, his naked frolics have gone without incident.
Today was bath day, a ritual that takes place every other day, right after dinner. Some weeks he'll go two days without a bath just so we can time the bath out to Saturday night so he's clean for church the next day.
He definitely knows when he's naked - when parts that go mostly covered come out to breathe and be inspected and admired.
While Kathy cleaned up after making a killer pot roast in the slow cooker, I went on bath duty with the midget. I normally strip him down to a diaper, then as the bath water fills up, I throw the clothes in his hamper, grab his towel and wash cloth, etc. By the time I get him back herded to the bathroom the water is ready to go.
Today, for whatever reason, I took everything - diaper and all - while I did my regular pre-bath ritual. A little naked time for the boy. Go ahead - run like a madman and let it flop around in the breeze.
I could hear Kathy, still doing dishes but overlooking the living room, give him a courtesy giggle and make a comment about his butt cheeks.
When I rounded the corner to the bathroom, Kole was squatted down with a couple of toys. The house is full of hidden toy landmines. I don't keep a constant inventory of toys. In fact, we're in the process of rotating and recycling some toys - as he stops playing with some, then plays with others he hasn't seen in a while. Big and small - some are toys, and some are toy parts to bigger toys. When I rounded the corner, without stopping and closely inspecting what he was kneeling and admiring, I was convinced enough that it was a couple of toys.
So I put down the towel in the bathroom. Turn off the water. Double-check the temperature of the water - it was just right. Then I took a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, looking back out of the bathroom into the hallway. Kole was still squatted down, one of the toys was now in his hand, the other toy was still on the carpet and under very carefully scrutiny by him.
Then I took a closer look.
It was as much a toy as roadkill is potpourri. As much of a plaything as this post is a mystery novel.
Yes, the kid pooped in the floor!
I put him in the bath and began cleaning up after him. Luckily, it was a fairly firm mess, nothing real wet and sloppy, so cleanup wasn't as bad as it could have been. And, it was bathtime anyway.
Kathy asked if we should hold his nose in it and swat him with a rolled up newspaper. I told her it would be unfair, since we hadn't even begun to paper train him. And he could have been scratching at the bathroom door and I didn't hear it.
In hindsight, it was hard to predict an accident. He had already taken two poops earlier in the day - about average. It was a stretch to think there could be a third before 6:30.
But there was. Oh yes, there was. In the form of a firm, brown, steaming letter "c" on the carpet.
Did he just have his last naked streak through the house before bath time? I doubt it. But, until properly potty trained, the streaking will kept to a minimum.