The Public Pee Pee

I do not dig germs.  I am almost a germophobe – ALMOST.  Public bathrooms make me squeamish even under the best possible circumstances (ie: freshly cleaned, no other participants in the communal etc) but the minute you add a toddler into the equation, shit just got real.

I am quite sure that any other visitor to any ladies room where Shorty #2 and I have made a visit would think I am COMPLETELY off my rocker.  From the minute we enter until at last we walk out, I throw a non-stop barrage of don’t-touch-thats, don’t-look-in-theres and don’t-sit-anywheres.  All of this could simply be avoided by the use of haz-mat suits but since those are not commonplace in the shopping mall/ restaurant/ airport we are visiting we’ll just have to do our best with toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

Why is it that bathrooms, especially public bathrooms are such a fascination for a toddler?  I know, I know.  I get the humour behind poop, bum and fart jokes but honestly, the depository for feminine products is not a cool mailbox. “IT’S GROSS” I scream the minute a finger goes near the lid.

And don’t even get me started on the automatic flush toilets.  Why do they insist on flushing when you sit down rather than stand up?  For a Shorty, the moment when they, at last are able to sit on the toilet after all the running and rushing across the aforesaid public place to find the bathrooms (which are always conveniently located at the other end of the mall).  Imagine:

Shorty #2: “I have to go.”

Me: “Are you sure?”  *This is always necessary as many public bathroom visits are merely sightseeing tours into the unknown.

Shorty #2: “I gotta go BADLY.” (She crosses her legs.)

Me: “OK, lets go”

Shorty #2: “I can’t hold it.”

Me: “HOLD IT.”

And then I scoop her up and hightail it to the loo.  We get in breathless and dancing, waiting for a stall that is not either occupied, pre-fouled and/ or unflushed.  Finally, we make it in.  Every centimetre of exposed toilet seat covered with paper (for protection) and the Shorty is raised up to take her place on the throne – just in time for the automatic flusher to let ‘er rip.  Shorty shrieks thinking her little bum is about to be sucked down the drain.  Tears, turmoil and fear stop the bathroom experience in its tracks!  Then you get to dry your hands in the supersonic tornadic hand dryers from hell.  The whole mess is terrifying really.

Not to mention the problem of scale.  At home we are outfitted with step stools and special toilet seats to help with the necessary *ahem* ergonomics of a two year old using a toilet.  In a public potty, all bets are off that the angles are right and you’re lucky to not end up with pee shooting out of the toilet at YOU.  No kidding.  This happened.  In a restaurant.  On my designer shoes.  It was awesome (in a not very awesome way).

So the morale of the story?  Do anything and everything you can to HOLD IT ’til you get home!

 

Holy Shit!

So, you may recall that we are deep into Potty Training time with Shorty #2.  We were on a roll, it was going great.  Until tonight.  Tonight we suffered… a set back.  A small set back.  Ok, it was more like one small setback and another, well, much larger set back.

You can picture it.  A lovely long weekend getaway.  A nice dinner in a sweet local restaurant.  Dappled sunshine reflecting off the crystal, jazz playing in the background, a nice wine ordered.  #2 fresh from a nap, a swim and a bath ready to face the evening as she had many times before.  The only difference this time is that she was diaperless.  All was going swimmingly until #2 had a little accident.  #2 had a #2.  No harm, no foul.  We swept her up into the restaurant loo for a quick clean up and wardrobe change and no one was the wiser.

The dinner carried on.  Lovely, delicious, delightful.  Everyone laughing and enjoying.  Our girls befriended the other little girls at the next table and they had fun playing tag on the patio and through the gardens.  All fine until #2 came running over to me with a look of horror in her eyes.  “Mama, I gotta poo.”  “Hold it!” I cried.  But it was too late.  Way too late.

This wasn’t just a poop accident.  This was like a “Night of the Living Dead” sort of explosion.  Poop everywhere.  J scooped her up to rush her into the bathroom, poop dropping everywhere.  I was like the “Cleaner” from Pulp Fiction – trying to erase all the evidence, the poop that had dropped out of #2’s skirt all over the patio floor, before any of the other diners had noticed.

cleaner

Yeah, they noticed.  By the time we all returned to the table with the now-fresh-as-a-daisy-thanks-to-the-WHOLE-pack-of-Huggies-wipes Shorty #2, all eyes were on us.  I tried to smile and keep up a brave face, but as the aforementioned kids from the other table were herded back to the side of their “single-child” parents with their judgy eyes pointed in our direction, I could hear the disdain in their eye-rolls;  “I would never let my kid poop in such a fine restaurant!” and “That will NEVER happen to me.”  I’m here to prove that this was one of those days where what I wanted, preferred or felt was the cool or OK was NOT in the cards.  I had no control in this situation and neither will you Judgy Judgersons!  It  was time to make a quick exit.  You just try and keep up a brave face in moments such as these.  “Yes, my kid just SHAT on your patio and we’ll have another bottle of that pinot noir.”   Needless to say, we tipped VERY well and hightailed it out of there.

Maybe next time we’ll just get a sitter…

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

It’s Friday night, Daddy’s away and it’s been a hell of a week. Lets go out for a girls dinner. Sounds like a great idea, right? Me, the two Shorties, a nice meal, no dishes. What could be bad about this? Rather than explain, I’ll just share the riveting dinner conversation…

Me: Okay – what do you guys want to order? Pizza, pasta. Great. Done. And juice to drink. Cool.

A moment of calm after the order is placed. Hmm, this could be quite nice.

Three seconds elapse.

Shorty #2 begins to blow bubbles in her drink

Shorty #1 takes away her straw.

#2: Ahhhhhhhhh. My stwaw.

She then pinches #1.

#1: Waaaaahhhhh (crying)!!!!! That hurt. MOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!

#2: Waaaahhhhhhh (also crying)!!!!

Me: Keep your hands on your own body, we don’t hurt each other. #2!! No blowing bubbles, that’s rude. #1 don’t boss your little sister around so much.

By now, the hipsters two tables over are eye-rolling so hard, I can hear their corneas scraping along their eyelids.

#2 burps loudly.

#1: That’s not ok, you shouldn’t burp at the table.

A moment of calm, so we pull out toys to pass the time. #1 has a pile of Barbies that were in some dramatic play where people were falling off cliffs and miraculously rising from the dead. Note to self to monitor her Netflix watching even more closely. #2 has a couple of cars, one of which is now hovering over her juice. Crisis averted the car is now back on the table. Just then #2 inadvertently leans on #1 and she FREAKS out.

#1: Arggghh – quit touching me!!!!

Now #2 is sliding off the banquet.

Me: Where are you going:

She grunts.

#2: I poo.

Stand up diaper change takes place in the change table-less bathroom while #1 holds the fort. Luckily the food is on the table when we get back and there’s a moment of serenity and we actually start to each talk about our day…. For about 35 seconds.

#2: Mo pizza.

#1: I want some of that pizza.

#2 (or maybe #1, I think I’ve blocked it out): What’s for dessert?

#1: I just farted.

Me: Um, cheque please.

Maybe we’ll stay home next time….