7/1/07 - Mama, I have to go potty

Are there actually other people going through this crazy parenthood ride out there somewhere? I mean, besides the put-together people who don't have trouble getting to the grocery store to buy fruit, or the library to return books on time. Is there someone out there who shares my anxiety in thinking about going out - alone - with the kids in tow?

I hope so.

It's inevitably harder than you think it's going to be, right? Say Tim has to work, and I decide like the lunatic that I am that we should go out for lunch. At McDonald's of course. Artery-clogging menu choices aside, it's a little rough to get Joshua to stay with me in line while I'm holding Jonah. All he wants to do is go look at the lovely display of fine happy meal toys; after all, he's just a kid. But I have this storyline unfolding in my head where I turn my back to order and the stealer of children races through to take my beautiful boy. So I can try to place my order with my back actually turned to the cashier, or I can make Joshua stay with me. Which involves much cajoling and pulling of the arms, as well as repeated admonishments not to push the credit card buttons. I mean really, we came to play and have fun, right? When does the fun start?

There's the waiting for the food, which Joshua really doesn't understand at all. Honestly, if there was call-ahead ordering, I'd do it every time. But there's not. So we stand there, and Joshua asks "Is that my food?" only a million times or so. We've told them what we want, why can it not magically appear before us? he thinks. And the carrying of the food is another problem in itself. How, I ask, should I corral an exuberant 3 year old as well as carry a baby and an entire tray of food, not to mention pouring and carrying drinks? I juggle and balance and just as I'm getting it figured out . . . "Mama, I have to go potty."

And that means now.

(On a side note, it's so musical how he says it . . . if it were notes the "have" would be way up high on the scale, and "potty" would be way down low, with a sort of seriousness to it. Mama, I have to go potty. Can you hear it? Anyway.)

Or how about when we've successfully gone to Gymboree, but are headed home already past dinner time, when Joshua announces that he needs to visit a bathroom. In the land of less than a year potty-trained, there's just not much time to wait. He sing-songs over and over again from the back seat, so we pull in to the nearest 7-11 and pile out, and as we're walking past moon pies and week old doughnuts, snickers bars and ranch flavored sunflower seeds, Joshua has forgotten why we stopped in the first place. More arm pulling ensues so that we can finally get to the bathroom, only to find that we don't all fit. Jonah in his car seat, plus me and Joshua, and the door won't close. I've lost all sense of decency at this point, and am doing what I can to keep my sanity and to keep Joshua's pants dry. I prop the door open with the car seat and hoist Joshua up onto the toilet while the world watches. And then he doesn't understand why I won't let him wash his hands in the sink . . . which I can't even reach past Jonah's car seat anyway . . . but which is the grossest sink I think I've ever seen in my life. So I drag him yelling out of the store and douse him with hand sanitizer once we're in the car again, and *sigh* will we ever eat dinner?

At least he didn't sit his bottom on the toilet seat. I don't know if it makes it better or worse, or just odd, but since Joshua's not tall enough to stand on the floor to use the bathroom, we lift him up and have him stand on the toilet seat and sort of lean. It's fairly comical, especially when he decides to draw shapes with the stream of pee . . . "Look mama, I did draw an oval with my potty!"

Whew. Tell me it's not just us.

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