Mistakes

Most Saturdays I bring you a parenting mistake my husband and I have made. Please have a laugh or cry at our expense — we really are good parents, I swear.

This week’s mistake involves setting a dangerous precedent.  Last night, we were all pretty wrung out.  We had little food in the house, so I packed kid and husband into the car and we went out for burritos.  Halfway through the meal, Nora gave signs that she needed to use the bathroom.  “Do you need to go potty?”  I asked.

“Do they have a potty here?”

“Yep, come on.  I’ll take you.”

It was a private restroom, no stalls.  Nora eyes widened in concern when she saw the huge toilet.  I tried to help her pull down her pants.  She whimpered, “I wanna go pee at home.”  Her legs were squeezed together and she was bouncing at the knee.

“Honey, I don’t think we’re going to make it all the way home without an accident.”

“The potty’s too big.”

“Hmm.  It’s not that big, it only comes up to my knee.  See?”

“I want a little potty.”

Nora rarely stonewalls in this manner, it was clear this toilet freaked her out.  It was equally clear her bladder was about to explode.  It was time to get creative.  I needed to make the toilet less intimidating.

“Okay, honey.  I have an idea.  I’ll sit on the toilet and you can sit up there with me.” Yes, I am that crazy, and the toilet was that big.

Nora immediately liked this idea.  I sat way back on the toilet, she pulled down her pants.  As I hoisted her up, I reminded her not to start peeing until I gave her the okay.  When she was in place, she started grunting.  Uh-oh.

“Are you pooping?”

“Yuh.”  She was holding her breath.

Nora is a champion pooper.  She won accolades at daycare for being the “best” pooper.  She takes her time and does a thorough job.  It’s rather magnificent. 

Now that I had some time to think and it dawned on me that this was not something I wanted to repeat in every public restroom from now until she grew bigger than most toilets.  Especially in restrooms that have stalls. 

I began to strategize.  If she asked me to do this next time, I could exaggerate the size of today’s toilet, saying it was much bigger.  Or I could tell her that she’s much bigger now.  Or I could pull a pretend shrinking pill out of my pocket, drop it in the bowl and tell her the toilet size was now reduced by 30 percent.  I had plenty of time to walk through several scenarios, as well as worry about getting poop on my jeans.

“Does it smell like mommy poop or Nora poop?” she asked.

“Nora poop.” I said.  She smiled.

Suddenly, a new problem occured to me: how am I going to wipe this child?  There was no room to manuever. 

After what felt like forty minutes, Nora announced she was done.  I picked her up by the armpits and placed her on the floor, instructing her to bend over.  The toilet was full of some of her best work.  I wiped her and shimmied off the toilet.  Nora flushed and ran to the other side of the bathroom, just as I had taught her, to avoid splashback.

Hand washing took another five minutes, as soap dispensers and automatic paper towel dispensers are inherently fascinating.

We finally returned to our table.  Ben was watching videos on my iPhone to pass the time.  He raised his eyebrows at me. 

“There’s a a story in it.”  I said.