Bathroom Announcer
this is a true story from
9/2006
I share this for embarrassed moms everywhere.
Accurate names have been used in hopes of one day using this
story to come to the rescue of my future grandchildren.
Besides, with the number of people in the restroom and
restaurant, everyone knows who I am already. :-)
Having been stuck eating less than desirable food while waiting hours in the emergency room the night before, my stomach was touchy. Or, maybe it was the emotional stress of holding my screaming, begging, 3 year old daughter, Bethany, down while a nervous physician's assistant jabbed a needle with numbing agent into her foot several times and then cut her foot open to remove a very large, very obstinate splinter.
The next day, we had to take her to her pediatrician to be examined and for him to look over the prescription. Her prescription was much too strong for her weight, so we are thankful we went. On the way back we stopped at an eat-in restaurant. It was the middle of a work day and I noted several ladies from area offices were there for their lunch hour. I had to use the restroom. Bethany, who was barefoot due to the bandaging, had to go also. We decide it will be faster if us girls went together while Clint gets our food.
First, I was beathing hard from carrying her so far and the exertion of trying to do everything without letting her feet touch the floor I knew had to be filthy. I was tired from the long night. I had hurt my right shoulder the night before when she lurched and nearly fell off of the hospital bed. None of this helped things.
I managed to get her pants pulled down, her seat on the toilet, her business done and the paperwork filed. Then, I got her pants pulled back up although I am pretty sure at this point, her brief style underwear could now be appropriately called a thong. She never touched the floor.
Feeling like I had a good handle on the job, I flipped her to the other hip, pulled down one side of my britches (that's country slang for any type of pants, ya'll :-), reached around my, um, "generous" hips and got the otherside of my dress pants down. If you are a woman who has been pregnant 8 times like I have, you can imagine how desperate things were getting after carrying 30 extra pounds, hearing running water and being so close to the toilet. I finally sit down by manuevering Bethany onto my knee. Relief was in sight!
Something embarrassing happened. I broke wind as I sat. Having a very low embarrassment threshold as it is, I was dying a slow death until Bethany put the final touches on it.
"Mom, did you poot?" she asked very loudly to make sure I heard her over the running sink.
I tell you, everything, everyone in that room paused for my answer. I didn't even hear the clock ticking. And, just who decided to cut off the sink at that point?
"Yes." I said.
"You pooted, Mom?" She asked even louder, needing verification for herself, the other bathroom guests and I guess the clock too.
"Yes Princess. Mom pooted." I said slowly. I thought-hoped-that would end it. At this point, I was praying my shy bladder would just-please-now cooperate and I could get out of there.
"Mom, you just peed!!!" She cheered me on, just like I cheered her on during potty training. It was getting even quieter in the bathroom now. People were coming in, but no one was leaving. I did notice some very nice shoes as they gathered around our door to hear what would transpire next.
"You peed Mom! Good job! Go poop now." She encouraged.
"I don't need to poop." I switched her to the other leg so I could get to the paper, get the job done and get out of there.
She must have missed the next step because she said "Mom!! Eww!! You didn't wipe. That's nasty! That's dis-cuss-ting!"
Where IS a rock big enough to crawl under when you need one?
"Mom wiped, Princess. You missed it because I moved you to my other leg so your bare, injured foot wouldn't get a disease from this floor." I say more to my "well heeled" audience than to my daughter.
So, we finally leave the stall and Bethany coaches me through washing my hands and announced to some of the "now busy" ladies that "I peed. Mom peed too. We both went potty!" No one even gave me the sympathy smile we parents get when our children embarrass us! No one even congratulated us on a job well done. I finally look up and see that I was surrounded by very young women who never had children and very old women who must have forgotten what is like with little ones. All I could think was "Come on somebody, throw me a bone here!"
We leave the bathroom. I get us both back to our seat without further incident and plan to help Clint with the drinks. As I stand up to go to him, he comes around the corner and Bethany announces to him (and the entire restaurant)....
"Mom peed, but she didn't wipe!"