Droppin' a Deuce

Julian is getting bigger, and quite independent. Now he has arrived at the point where he no longer needs me to help him with, getting candy from the tallest shelf in the kitchen, or to pre chew his food. His capabilities grow everyday.
Now Jules is compelled to go the the loo on his own. I’d imagine his voice is reminiscent of the angels song when he softly screams, “get out I gotta poop!” Heavenly. I almost began to miss the sessions when he first started with the potty emancipation. Sitting with him face to face, my smiling face watching him strain; his Yoda to my Luke Skywalker. The gentle reminders to breathe as his flexed face goes purple with beads of sweat and determination rolling off his chin.

No, that little poo face is gone. I’m not privileged enough to help wipe his toucas. He’s a man now and that’s all there is to it. I’m not complaining though, as I’m not really missing much. And the verbal skill of three year olds can be rather entertaining.
Now, the public bathroom trips are more like sports center.

Yesterday, we made the routine monthly trip to Wal of thy Marts. A dreadful place, but seeing as they don’t have food at Bloomingdales, I’m pinned (they still have Bloomingdale’s, right? ) between a wall and a mart- or was that a rock and a dumb place?

Jules, Yaya and I successfully made it to the restroom in time. Unfortunately, I didnt’ make it to Julian’s stall until it was too late. He engaged the lock. But we worked through it.
Jules: Mom, don’t worry, I’m going peepee inuminnit (in a minute).
Me: Okay sweetie, you do your thing.
Jules: I’m taking my pants down. Now, I’m pulling my underwear down.
Me: okay, be careful.
Jules: I’m getting on the- cold seat! cold seat! Eeew.
Me: You okay?
Jules: Uhhuh. Now I’m going pee.
Me: great job, fella.
Jules: And now, I”m ....p..poo....dropping a deuce.

I might lament my choice of vocabulary, but the kind of word usage this one has is priceless. His play by play of the events behind the stall door would entertain the masses, I thought to myself. Others didn’t think it was that adorable.

A woman walked into the restroom with a confused look on her face. There was a child singing a “poopy”song (Jules often sings in the bathroom) and a woman peeking through the stall ( I was trying to coach the effort). It’s understandable that she should be a concerned. I smiled politely and explained “I’ve got a big boy going to the bathroom!” The woman looked nervous and fled to an adjacent stall.

Realizing that Jules was experiencing a new found emancipation, I stopped hovering next to the door and waited. “You done, sport?”

The next words terrified me.

“It’s so messy!”
I’m not one to beg, but after those three disturbing words I stuck my nose into the crack of the stall and began. “Okay, it’s time you let me in.”
“I got it mom.” Came the man-child’s voice.
“Please, please, please?” I pressed.
“Go away!” He persisted.
“You want to get a treat?”

I am not opposed to bribery under certain circumstances.

As the cleaning (and we will just leave it at that- you’re welcome) ended, I came to the conclusion that children should not be left to their own devices until they are 18 as to avoid such catastrophes such as this one.

It’s not that I want to hover or stifle my children’s independence, I would just like to maintain a bit of cleanliness whilst in public. And someday, he’s going to be able to make the trip to the loo solo. I know. In five years. But they journey that children take from suckling to standing alone is not theirs alone. It’s a journey for their parents as well. We have to give more and more each day to our children as far as space and allowance. And it’s just as hard for us as it is for them. I’m a proud mama. I’m just not sure I’m ready to be a proud parent of an emancipated three year old.