Potty Talk

As a parent, with each child I look forward to the day when I can say he or she is potty-trained. What a sense of relief it is to not have to buy diapers in bulk for two children. Aaaahhhh...

Then it hits you. I am now required to know where every restroom in the Phoenix metropolitan area is. Not only do I have to know their location, but I have to be able to judge the time span it is going to take me to get there, usually lugging three other children, a purse, a diaper bag and other various and sundry items.

You know, of course, when newly trained, they wait until the last absolute second to let you know they have to go. Last night saw me scooping up Ya-Ya and running through Home Depot to avoid her doing her business in the fan and lighting aisle.

Tonight, the chosen location was the grocery store. Nothing says motherhood like having to find someplace to park a loaded cart and run like the wind to the potty.

I have to share just a smidgen of the conversation I had with Ya-Ya. Before you read this, though, understand that Ya-Ya is an incessant talker. She has her mama's gift of gab.

Here we go:

Ya-Ya: "Mama, is that a boy or girl?"
Mama: "That's a boy."
Ya-Ya: "Why he has a piggy tail?"
Mama: "Some boys like to have piggy tails."
Ya-Ya: "Oh. Ooooo, a little potty. I yike little pottys. Who's that over there?"
Mama: "It's another lady going potty."
Ya-Ya: "Oh. What's her name?"
Mama: "I don't know, Ya-Ya."
Ya-Ya: "Oh. Is she going pee-pee?"
Mama: "Yes, she is. Are you done yet?"
Ya-Ya: "Nope. I still pooshing it out. What's this?"
Mama: "It's a little trash can. Please don't touch it."
Ya-Ya: "Oh, a little trash can. Why is there a little trash can in here?"
Mama: "Ya-Ya, please don't touch! Aren't you done yet?
Ya-Ya: "Mama, can I crawl under the door? Why is the door locked? I don't want to go. Can I do the flushy? Where's Daddy and Bubba?"

And that, my friends, is your potty talk segment for the night. My mother always said real ladies don't use potty talk. I guess we're not ladies.