This is one of those “So no shit, there I was….” kind of stories.
We’re at a truck stop just south of Pattonsburg, Missouri getting fuel in the generator of the trailer when Trygg announces he needs to go poop. I drew the lucky straw this time so into the lady’s room we went.
I sent him into a stall and said call for me when you’re done. You see, he still needs help wiping – every parent’s dream huh?! I smell him before I hear the first kersplat into the water. I casually ask if he’s done yet. He climbs down and waddles to the door (yeah, his pants are around his ankles) and lets me in. I do the wonderful deed of wiping a 4 year olds butt and just as I’m about to tell him to get his pants on he says, “I think I need to go again.”
Back on the throne he goes. He’s grunting and moaning and really straining. I’m thinking, “is this kid for real?” Splash another one hits the water. Before I can ask if he’s done he looks up at me with his red face and with a strain in his voice he says, “I don’t feel so good mom. I hate it when I don’t feel so good. I need to pee out my butt more.”
Pee out his butt. . . that means he thinks he’s got diarrhea. Lord knows the lady’s room now smells like he’s got that and then some. I’m slightly embarrassed to be standing behind door number one because anyone that walks into the bathroom is going to automatically assume this lovely aroma emitting throughout the room is in fact, mine. No ladies, that’s all 4-year-old stank. Makes a momma proud (I’m wiping a tear from my eye now just thinking about it.) just thinking about it.
Wow does it stink in here and his little red face looks a bit more relaxed, finally. I thought he was going to have a coronary there for a moment. “Are you done now Trygg?” I ask. He says through a sigh, “Yep, I think so.” Thank God is what I was thinking. I just wanted to get out of there before someone else. . crap, someone opened the door and is in the next stall. Wow. . I didn’t even have a chance to flush for him and file the evidence away down the drain. Dang it. Oh well. . if I talk to him they’ll realize it wasn’t me right?
Yeah, so I casually tell him to pull up his pants and pull down his shirt (which was balled up under his chin. He was a proud wearer of a Vikings jersey today and he took extra care to make sure it was out of his splash zone.). I toss the paper I wiped him with into the toilet and viola. . . shit. I wait. Second attempt. . . “OH MY GOD HE CLOGGED THE TOILET!!”
And of course, there is now someone waiting to use the stall we are standing in. Crap. . he’s looking at me and smiling. Okay, he’s beaming from ear to ear like the proud new owner of a sports car. I open the stall door as I’m saying, “I’m not sure why that won’t flush honey.” Please oh please Lord let them buy that. . . maybe they would if the place didn’t smell like a cattle barn.
As he’s washing his hands the lady comes out of the stall next to us and she just so happens to be an employee of this here fine establishment that my totally adorable child had just desecrated with his poo. She smiles (oh yeah, she has no idea what is waiting for her behind door number 1) and says, “I’ll take a look and see why it’s not flushing for you.”
Inside I am laughing hysterically. In fact, I could have peed I was laughing so hard. But on the outside I was mortified. I rushed Trygg through that hand washing like the building was going to burn down around us. As we’re walking out I looked back. I shouldn’t have looked back. As I looked back I saw that lady hunched over the toilet with a plunger. . . she was still there when we walked out the front door.
Next time Bruce gets to take him.