Good Morning, World! (When Your Toddler Pees in Public)
Our whole family went to the doctor’s office this morning. That fact alone will tell you two things:
1) It was a chaotic morning getting everybody into relatively acceptable condition to be seen in public, and
1a) I probably forgot something.
We finally get ourselves there, and the boys are playing in the kids’ area of the lobby. I’m taking this opportunity to catch up with my Facebook peeps (What’s up, Peeps!) when I notice our little guy issuing directives like, “You can only have the green ones!” to some stranger child. Cute Banker tries to mediate from across the packed and painfully quiet lobby. I nudge him over a little closer to our child, which helps, but the rest of us can still follow every word of the interaction.
From this awkward arrangement flows the following monologue from Cute Banker:
“He wants more than green ones, buddy. Can you choose another color to share with this little boy? Addison, that sure is a cute boy’s name. No, that lady doesn’t have to move, honey, she’s sitting here with her son. Addison. Her son. A boy. With TESTICLES.”
Or something like that. I feel a rising heat as Cute Banker keeps up a running commentary about this child’s masculinity, as I notice this poor child’s skinny jeans, sweet little cap sleeves, and her adorable little girl face. Only moments later, Addison and her Mommy relocate to another part of the waiting room. Dangit. Awkward! Do I say something? Say, “My husband is gender blind?” Or, “Aren’t little girls cute in black t-shirts and Converse sneakers these days??” I decide it’s better left alone and avoid eye contact.
But, that isn’t enough for us. We just don’t think their humiliation is complete. We get our chance to really step it up when sweet, feminine little Addison wanders back into the play area. Suddenly, Cute Banker looks at me with a mixture of alarm and a semi-comical “Holy s***, something Very Bad has just happened, but it’s kind of funny, but not really, it’s very Serious, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so what do we do now??!” It’s times like this, I’m very glad I’m strapped in next to Cute Banker on the roller coaster of life. Somehow, everything can be hilarious and not that bad. Despite his gender recognition issues, we are definitely partners in crime, not in crimes against each other. Thank you, for my particular Cute Banker, oh Lord.
So, I look down at where he’s motioning with his crazy eyes. It seems our little guy has let loose a monsoon of urine all over the toy piano bench he’s sitting on. It has overflowed onto his shoes, the floor, and a book. (Books do not recover from urine.) Our boy seems to be fairly unaware of it, or is just in denial, or…something. We decide this is good. At least he’s not going to alert the entire waiting room to The Situation. Maybe we can get it mopped up to some degree before the office manager eyes us. She’s already annoyed at us, just in general. This would cement our status as Trouble, for sure.
But, first, we have to deal with Addison’s ticked-off Mommy. I mean, we are two-for-two, here. First calling her daughter a dude, and now turning the children’s play area into a public toilet. I act like this is a totally normal thing. Cool as a cucumber, I stroll off calmly in search of paper towels. I am Zen Mama. Except, I’ve got my phone, my sunglasses, my keys, and a full cup of coffee occupying both my hands and one armpit, and I can’t figure out how to get the bathroom door open. My sunglasses decide to take one for the team and leap out of my hand, cracking against the hard tile as they hit. I glance momentarily at my fallen brother and decide I must leave him. The good of the operation outweighs the good of my ability to see in bright light. I turn toward the door, push it open with my hip, paw at some towels, and saunter back into the play room to attend the damage.
Our kid was not messing around. I’ve never seen such a cascade of liquid. I’m mopping and wiping like mad, trying to get it all cleaned up before Addison’s Mommy calls the Mommy Police on us (she had that look). I clean up that floor so it’s cleaner than it was before it became receptacle for raw sewage. The book gets discretely tossed. I’m feeling pretty good about my quick, calm, Supermommy action.
Addison bops on over, unaware of the offensive description previously lodged at her by Cute Banker, and beelines for the toy piano. I hear her mother mutter to her about it being wet. In my most reassuring mommy-sisterhood voice, I explain that I cleaned it all up, dear. The wetness is just water from my quick decision to wet some of the towels I brought. Wasn’t that good thinking? I was born to have children, I’m such a natural.
Then. Addison ascends the toy. And I realize. I forgot to clean the toy, itself! I was so taken with cleaning Lake Michigan off the floor, I completely forgot to check the thing he was sitting on!! And now, there sat Addison, the innocent boy/girl/pee mop. I had to hope to heaven that Addison’s Mommy assumed that her daughter’s now damp pants got that way from “just water,” and that I had actually cleaned it as I said I had. I hope. I hope. I hope. Again: do you say something after the damage is done? Or just quietly vacate the premises as quickly as possible, while quietly pushing encouraging your kids to leave the fun toys and follow you, the suddenly far less-Zen mother?
I mentioned at the beginning of this account that I may have forgotten something this morning, in our mad rush out the door. Yeah. That was clean undies and pants for the children. Or any sort of wipe. Yep. Nice day for that. I tried to convince The Sprinkler that we needed to clean him up a bit. Was he grateful? Compliant? Grudgingly agreeable? Not today. Imagine the most pitiful little baby, pleading “No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy!!!” I’m thinking the office staff is conveniently losing our file about now. So, our soaking wet kid has no choice but to stand up for the remainder of our visit, although I did let him kneel, and sit his drenched tushie on his shoes.
Just for good measure, he lets loose again, while in the examining room. Luckily, it was on a vinyl bench this time. And I think the nurses have dealt with bodily fluids before. Unlike Addison’s Mommy, whose little angel clearly does not do such things. Being a girl, and all.