Laugh 'Till You Cry...

I KNOW THIS LOOKS REALLY LONG BUT I PROMISE IT IS WORTH
READING. I GOT THIS A WHILE BACK IN AN EMAIL. WHETHER
YOU HAVE KIDS OR NO KIDS, YOU WILL LAUGH YOUR PANTS OFF.

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 newborn 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 started 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. As I
sheepishly opened the door, and found an open sink, I
thought, Where's the fine print on the 'motherhood
contract' where I signed away every bit of my 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 Popkin is a freelance writer and mother of
three. She lives with her family in Grand Rapids,
Michigan, where she no longer uses public restrooms.)