Written by Erin Crawford Aug. 4, 2008

My daughter Edie is almost completely potty trained. It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it might be, what with the books, prime time specials, stories and opinions out there on how exactly to do it. She did it at her own pace. But now that I am nearly done with this aspect of child rearing, I can’t help but reflect on other care-taking arenas. Namely my dating life.

During some recent discussions (bitch sessions, if you will) with my girlfriends, an interesting theme kept popping up when it came to the dates or mates in our lives. It involved men being GIANT BABIES. My married-with-children girlfriends are suddenly finding themselves with another child — one who was supposed to take care of them through sickness and health — though I am not in a position to discuss the spouse as an annoying extra child.

My single girlfriends — granted a dwindling pool, with the occasional divorcee being thrown back into the mix — are at a point where they are completely fed up with wiping the emotional bums of their boyfriends. You know the type, they suck you in with the “feelings” talk and then they pull back with the “I am just not ready for this” sort of crap. It is sort of the equivalent of “I really like you, but…”, except in the Poopy Diaper Boyfriend scenario, he is not breaking up with you. At least you don’t think he is. It’s all about needing “time to work through my issues”. Whatever, dude.

I have dated my share of the chest beating, alpha male, cro-magnum type of guy. I even thought I married one, but it turned out he was a Poopy Diaper in hiding. That whole macho, keep your feelings on the inside (if you even have any), lift heavy things for the womenfolk sort of guy has seems to have fallen out of fashion, though maybe I am just not looking in the right places. Even at Home Depot I noticed more women than men and none of them were whining about anything. We girls are growing tired of having to constantly wipe the emotional bums of otherwise manly men. Break out the training pants; it’s time to figure that shit out on your own, boyfriend.