The Potty

My friend Melanie emailed me a little piece written by a mother discussing her trip to the bathroom with her child. I could have written it. For anyone with children, you know how fun going to the bathroom is in public with your children. Especially small children. I'm not even going to cover trying to get yourself, a 2 year old, and a 3 year old crammed into a stall the size of a coffin, pull your pants down, sit without knocking one of the children over, and peeing without having the toilet spray from the excessive flushing make you wonder if you're on a bidet. . . we're just going to discuss one particular incident I've recently experienced.

We took the boys to the movies two weeks ago to see a Thomas movie. Going to the movies is a big deal for them -- they've never before actually made it through the entire thing, but they did this time. After the movie, I had to use the bathroom. Chris brought Henry to the car, and I brought David with me. Big mistake. Why I didn't think about the bathroom being full after a movie lets out is beyond me. Every stall was full. There was a line. We patiently waited our turn, standing in line while simultaneously trying to keep David from having his first peeping Tom arrest as he tried desperately to see under the door "what taking she so long." I should also add that the bathroom at this particular theater is TINY. If you have the baby changing station open, nobody can walk past because the bathroom is so narrow. This leads to excellent bathroom acoustics.

David and I squeeze into a stall. Of course the handicapped stall wasn't the first to open up! He immediately dashes to the rear of the stall (pun intended) and positions himself in prime flushing position. I lock the door and pull my pants down. As I drop my pants, David says as loud as he can, "I like you polka dot underpants Mama!" Always one to love a compliment, I of course thanked him. I sit down to go to the bathroom, as the spray is hitting my bum already from flush number one. I'm afraid my bum will smack him in the face because he's standing so close to me. Seriously, how much room is there behind the bowl, between the toilet and the wall? Gumby was back there, primed to flush again. As I make the descent down, David screams, "Do you have to poop? I don't want it to get stinky!" FLUSH. Let me remind you that the entire bathroom was full. With a line to get in. Swell. I assured him I didn't have to poop. I tried to model a quiet voice. He wasn't getting it. As loud as he can, while patting my naked rear end, he said, "I glad you bum doesn't stink Mama. It looks real nice." FLUSH. OK. What the hell? Is it too much to ask for child friendly graffiti on the walls? COME ON! I finish up and get myself re-clothed. FLUSH. FLUSH. The people waiting in line probably thought I had diarrhea the damn toilet flushed so much. I reach to open the door. FLUSH one last time for good measure. We exit the stall, and I avoid making eye contact with anyone. I felt like the line was as long to get into that bathroom as it would be for a major league sporting event. David shrieks, "WASH YOUR HANDS! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GERMS A TOILET HAS?!" OK, at least he listens to me sometimes.

As we're leaving the theater he stops in the middle of the lobby and says, "I have to go potty." I made him pee in the parking lot next to the car.