Post by Sam on Jun 9, 2007 16:54:18 GMT -5
A 3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall.
>
> By Shannon Popkin
>
> My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and does
> it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we're in the
> library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window.
>
> People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a
> just-turned-3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the
> volume. It's always fully cranked. There've been several embarrassing
> times that I've wished the meaning of his words would have been masked
> by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last
> week at Costco.
>
> Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with
> me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the restroom
> that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second
> to the last stall:
>
> "Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper on
> the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on da toiwet paper now? Mommy,
> what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?"
>
> At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in the
> bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5? Maybe we
> could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out of this
> stall and reveal my identity.
>
> Cade continued, "Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a
> good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on the
> potty? Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh ... Mommy! I'm trying to see
> in dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are gonna
> get some candy!"
>
> I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of
> me. Where is a screaming new born when you need her? Good grief. This
> was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time
> before exiting. Trying to divert him, I said, "Why don't you look in
> Mommy's purse and see if you can find some candy. We'll both have some!"
>
> "No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies. Oh! Mommy!" He s tarted to
> gag at this point. "Uh oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy, doze
> stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!" As the gags became
> louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall. I quickly flushed the
> toilet in hopes of changing the subject. I began to reason with myself:
> OK. There are four other toilets. If I count four flushes, I can be
> reasonably assured that those who overheard this
> embarrassing monologue will be long gone.
>
> "Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going
> stinkies! Get up! Get up!" He grunted as he tried to pull me off. Now I
> could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet outside my
> door.
>
> "Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under da door? What
> were you wooking at, Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?" More
> laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the
> situation.
>
> "Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now, Mommy."
> He started pounding on the door. "Mommy, don't you want to wash your
> hands? I want to go out!!"
>
> I saw that my "wait 'em out" plan was unraveling. I sheepishly opened
> the door, and found standing outside my stall, twenty to thirty ladies
> crowded around the stall, all smiling and starting to applaud. My
> first thought was complete emabarassment, then I thought, "Where's the
> fine print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit of
> my dignity and privacy?"
>
> But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed bubbly
> soap between his chubby little hands, I thought, I'd sign it all away
> again, just to be known as Mommy to this little fellow.
>
> (Shannon Popki n is a freelance writer and mother of three. She lives
> with her family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she no longer uses
> public restrooms)
>
> By Shannon Popkin
>
> My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and does
> it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we're in the
> library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window.
>
> People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a
> just-turned-3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the
> volume. It's always fully cranked. There've been several embarrassing
> times that I've wished the meaning of his words would have been masked
> by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last
> week at Costco.
>
> Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with
> me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the restroom
> that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second
> to the last stall:
>
> "Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper on
> the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on da toiwet paper now? Mommy,
> what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?"
>
> At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in the
> bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5? Maybe we
> could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out of this
> stall and reveal my identity.
>
> Cade continued, "Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a
> good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on the
> potty? Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh ... Mommy! I'm trying to see
> in dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are gonna
> get some candy!"
>
> I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of
> me. Where is a screaming new born when you need her? Good grief. This
> was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time
> before exiting. Trying to divert him, I said, "Why don't you look in
> Mommy's purse and see if you can find some candy. We'll both have some!"
>
> "No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies. Oh! Mommy!" He s tarted to
> gag at this point. "Uh oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy, doze
> stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!" As the gags became
> louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall. I quickly flushed the
> toilet in hopes of changing the subject. I began to reason with myself:
> OK. There are four other toilets. If I count four flushes, I can be
> reasonably assured that those who overheard this
> embarrassing monologue will be long gone.
>
> "Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going
> stinkies! Get up! Get up!" He grunted as he tried to pull me off. Now I
> could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet outside my
> door.
>
> "Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under da door? What
> were you wooking at, Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?" More
> laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the
> situation.
>
> "Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now, Mommy."
> He started pounding on the door. "Mommy, don't you want to wash your
> hands? I want to go out!!"
>
> I saw that my "wait 'em out" plan was unraveling. I sheepishly opened
> the door, and found standing outside my stall, twenty to thirty ladies
> crowded around the stall, all smiling and starting to applaud. My
> first thought was complete emabarassment, then I thought, "Where's the
> fine print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit of
> my dignity and privacy?"
>
> But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed bubbly
> soap between his chubby little hands, I thought, I'd sign it all away
> again, just to be known as Mommy to this little fellow.
>
> (Shannon Popki n is a freelance writer and mother of three. She lives
> with her family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she no longer uses
> public restrooms)