It’s no secret that I absolutely love to shake my ass. I do it twice a week at Zumba. I do it in front of my dishwasher. And I probably do it in front of my bathroom mirror a little more often than I should. But what can I say? I dig it. And I don’t plan on quitting anytime soon.
But there is one dance in my life that I could really do without. I’m talking about the potty dance. And by potty dance, I don’t mean the one that I made up while I was toilet training my son where I would jump up and down and clap my hands and act like a jackass in the middle of my kitchen. I’m talking about the one that I do each and every single time that I have to enter a public restroom with my little dude.
It usually goes a little something like this:
Me: “C’mon sweetie, Mommy needs to go pee-pee and I want you to try to go too!”
Little Dude: “M-o-o-o-m-m-m!! I don’t NEED to go pee-pee. I’m FINE! You go without me!”
Me: “Don’t be silly, I’m not leaving you in the middle of Target by yourself…you’re just gonna have to come with me.”
(The conversation continues along a similar dialogue as we make our way through the store and enter the ladies room).
Me: “Keep walking honey…let’s go in the big stall, it’s easier for Mommy that way.”
Little Dude: “Hurry UP Mom! My wiener is burning! It’s burning and I HAVE TO GO PEE-PEE!”
Me: “I thought you said you didn’t have to go!”
Little Dude: “NO Mom! I REALLLLY have to go! Hurry up and pull down my pants because it’s COMING OUT!”
(At this point my breathing starts to quicken as I try to hang up my purse on the little hook on the door only to find out that it isn’t there anymore, and so I put the handle of my purse into my teeth and pull down little dude’s pants, at which point he puts his hands DIRECTLY on the toilet seat).
Me: “NOOOOOO!!! DON’T TOUCH THE TOILET SEAT!!! OH F*&! ME!!!
(The profanity is said silently in my head, of course).
Little Dude: “Mommy…I’m just trying to put the seat up so I don’t pee on it!”
Me: “Stop right now! There are GERMS all over that toilet seat!!”
(Said in a sort of mumbled way since I’m still holding my purse in between my teeth).
(Little Dude finally finishes and I pull up his pants and tell him what a great job he did).
Me: “Ok honey, now stand right there by the door and DON’T move. DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING because Mommy has to go pee-pee too.”
(At this point, I attempt the ever-so-famous “hover”, with my purse still in my mouth).
Little Dude: “Mommy! Are you pooping? Do you have to go poop? I don’t want you to go poop because it’s going to STINK!”
(All said while scrunching his face up and holding his nose).
Me: “No honey, I only have to pee.”
(And I am totally getting stage-fright at this point because I’m so busy concentrating on not letting my purse hit the floor and not letting my bare ass hit the toilet seat).
Little Dude: “M-o-o-o-o-o-m!! Hurry up and go PEE already!”
(At this point I am really starting to sweat).
(I finally muster up the courage to let loose, and then mid-stream, my dance moves suddenly switch from the Waltz to the Two-Step).
Me: “NO!! Do NOT open that door! Do NOT open that door!”
And the next thing I know, my little dude assumes that his presence isn’t required anymore and makes a break for it, and there I am, in the middle of the ladies room, trying to finish peeing, watching however other many women are in there washing their hands at the sinks and listening to my son yell, “C’mon Mom! Let’s GO!”
And I know that the other ladies can all see me in the mirror. And even though they pretend not to notice, I know that each and every one of them can tell what color Hanky Panky thong I have on that day. Because it’s in plain sight right around my knees. And they are probably wondering why in the hell I can’t control my kid. But then they typically all laugh and comment on how damn cute he is.
Maybe from now on I should just refrain from consuming any liquids within a few hours of venturing out with my little man.
Do any of you know the steps to the potty dance as well as I do?