Going to a public toilet with your child.
Warning: this post contains high concentrations of toilet humour.
You know how it goes. You’re in the middle of Woolies and your little one complains of a full bladder. ‘Awesome. Perfect timing’ you think to yourself.
So you stop mid-way through the weekly grocery shop, abandon the half-full trolley and hustle to the Parent Room so your kid can do their business. While you’re waiting for them nature calls and you also get the sudden urge to go. “Shit“.
You’d hold it if you could, but the urge is too strong.
I’m not sure why, but being trapped in a toilet cubicle with your child seems to spark a curiosity within them which would rival that of Einstein. Innocent, relentless, unfiltered questioning ensues:
“Are you doing a poo, Daddy?”
“Can I see it?”
*Child attempts to open the cubicle door*
“Don’t do that! Close the door!” Says Dad in a panicked whisper yell.
“Was that a fart?”
“Are you doing another poo, Daddy?”
“No more now, Daddy will be finished shortly” again, communicated in a panicked whisper yell.
“Why do you have so much hair, Daddy? Why is your face red?”
“My legs are sore, can I sit down? I’m hungry. It smells in here. Can we go to the playground? I love dancing. Can I have a present?”
It is at this point you find your forehead coated with a generous helping of nervous sweat. You finish what you were doing and hastily get ready to leave.
Frazzled, you open the cubicle door. Low and behold, there is a welcoming party of other parents waiting for you to exit, each sporting polite smirks of quiet content and empathy. They heard everything and they know exactly what you’ve just been through. They can laugh, because they’ve been there before. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing for you.
I just hope it doesn’t smell too bad in there for the next occupant!