- Joined
- Jun 16, 2006
- Location
- In the Beautiful South !!
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 restroom that evening, this is
what you would have heard coming from the second to
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 restroom 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 one? 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: Okay, 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 doing stinkies! Get up! Get up!' He
grunted as he tried to pull me.
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 da 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 rest-rooms
with her 3~year~old in tow.
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 restroom that evening, this is
what you would have heard coming from the second to
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 restroom 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 one? 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: Okay, 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 doing stinkies! Get up! Get up!' He
grunted as he tried to pull me.
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 da 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 rest-rooms
with her 3~year~old in tow.
