A little more than three years into this parenting gig, I think I can safely say that we had one of the grossest days in the history of my parenting career. It was worse than the time Riley ate a mouthful of mud. It was worst than the time Riley took off with a handful of um…dirty diaper. We ventured into a Port-O-Potty. At a park. To go #2. EWWWWWW!
I think it’s safe to say that my bare skin has not touched a public toilet seat since adolescence. Actually, maybe even earlier than that. In fact, I have vivid memories of my mom telling me from the next stall over, “Make sure you put paper down!”
As I grew, I decided to use the potty time to strengthen my quad muscles and just adapted to the “hover” technique.
So when Riley became potty trained, and we ventured into the world of public bathrooms, I made sure to always ALWAYS line the toilet seat with paper. No part of his delicate skin has touched a toilet seat, either, I’m proud to say.
So this morning, it was a crisp 60 degrees outside and we decided the park was calling us. We got there, played for a bit and then the little man began his trademark potty dance and started saying, “I have to go! I have to go!” I scooped him up (as much as my 23-week pregnant frame could do) and we hurried to the nasty Port-O-Potty near the trees. On the way there, I asked him if he had to go pee pee or poo poo. “Poo poo,” he replied and my heart sank.
“Derek, we need you!” I called to him and he followed us over there. Along with our dog. Because of course she was with us at the park, too.
If there is one positive to this situation, it was that the Port-O-Potty was a handicapped one, so there was plenty of room to spare. I opened the door and was hit with the trademark outhouse smell. I almost ralphed right there.
“What is this?” Riley asked.
“It’s a place to go potty at the park,” I quickly replied.
I lifted the nasty lid of the toilet seat and again, almost hurled. DISGUSTING.
I knew there was no way toilet paper placed on the seat was going to work this time. Derek held the door open while I lifted Riley and let him levitate above the toilet seat. I told him just to go. Shockingly, he did not go. Could you go number two while floating in the air? I didn’t think so.
My back was breaking, so I told Derek he had to take a turn. I took the dog and the nasty door and he cradled Riley and held him above the grossness of the outhouse. We waited. And waited.
And finally one teeny tiny bit came out.
“Are you all done?” I asked hopefully.
“Yes,” he said. Hallelujiah!!
We hurried out of that handicapped Port-O-Potty as quickly as we all could. And Derek got a piece of toilet paper stuck to his foot. The perfect ending to the perfect park outing.
It’s time like these that make me really miss diapers.