I really need the laughter right now and someone sent this to me in an e-mail last night. I just had to share. Here goes....
"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 have 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 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 onna 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. O h 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. 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 embarrassment, 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 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.)
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