> My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. 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 thelast stall:
>
> 'Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper
> on thepotty, 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 and we'll both have some!' 'No,
> I'm trying tosee 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. 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
> restrooms)
