I promised myself that I would not post about potty training on this blog. I don’t want my daughter to grow up and feel that I violated her privacy by sharing her every success and accident with the world. There are some lines that just should not be crossed!
This is not really about potty training, though, and it is a great story. I will say that we have been successfully potty training and she is doing great and leave it at that. So today was our first big trip out and I was a little nervous. I packed extra clothes and put a blanket down on the seat of her stroller.
Every time we were near a bathroom I asked if she needed to go, and she would say no. So, of course I am flipping through the racks with the eyes of an over-eager sales girl on me, when Leah suddenly pipes up, “I need to go potty.” I jumped into action, putting down the shirt I was looking at and asking the (now annoyed) salesgirl where the nearest bathroom was.
“She is new at this.” I explained. I admit I was kind of hoping she would offer to let us use an employee bathroom right there in the store, but instead she snapped her gum and said the nearest one was upstairs in the food court.
I took off running. I am not even joking, I actually ran. I had no idea how long my daughter’s little bladder would be able to hold out and I was determined to help her be successful. I nearly passed the elevator and had to double back and hit the button. As we waited I asked Leah if she was okay, and told her that she would just need to hold it for another minute.
We made it upstairs and around the corner, and then I saw the crowded food court. This scene is like something that would be played in an action movie in slow motion. I waved off one of those annoying girls with lotion samples, holding up my hand and saying “We need to go potty!” She looked alarmed and stepped away. I never stopped, and never looked back.
I ducked and butted my way through the rest of the food court and broke into another run for the last few feet to the bathroom like it was the end of a marathon.
I was relieved to find the large handicap stall empty and maneuvered the stroller in. I quickly covered every surface in toilet paper, took Leah out of the stroller, and finally, got her situated on the toilet.
“I don’t need to go potty.” She told me.
Yeah. That’s right.
Thirty-Four Million Moments 