3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall.
>
>By Shannon Popkin
>
>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'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 new born 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 Ic ould 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.
>
>By Shannon Popkin
>
>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'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 new born 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 Ic ould 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.