Potty Talk

I got this email from me sister this morning! I can totally relate. It had me ROLLING with tears streaming down my checks! Enjoy!!

Potty Talk
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 .)