Hilarious story

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'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 go nna 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 ve ry 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 t rying 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.
'M ommy! 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 asses s 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)