A Tale of Two Bathrooms

Long story short, Lou has poop on his head. And because of my compulsive habit of kissing babies’ heads, I can’t rule out the possibility that I have kissed poop today.

The morning started with spilled coffee. As I watched the steam rise from the milky brown liquid flooding the floor of the garage, I hoped that would be the lowest point of my day. Of course, it would not be.

It was Christmas break and we were headed to Kansas City’s Union Station for the morning. Nate was at basketball camp and Sam’s play date had just been canceled thanks to the stomach bug that’s perpetually circulating among kindergarteners.

As usual, I was carrying too much on our trek from the house to the car and my attempt at balancing my coffee mug on top of the stroller failed. It was a rough start, but I was confident we could overcome. What doesn’t kill me can only make me stronger. 

After an obligatory tour of the holiday themed model trains, we very slowly made our way down to the ground floor of Science City, which has every type of hands-on manipulative a kid could ever dream of. It’s very much Sam’s happy place.

A few minutes before noon, Lou made it clear that he wanted to eat, so I found a bench between the giant water table and the indoor playground, parked the stroller, and started to feed Lou.

There’s something about nursing that makes me have to pee. I think it’s the contracting of the uterus that puts pressure on the bladder. Or maybe it’s just mental. As soon as I’m sitting with a baby on my lap, attached to the boob, confined to one location, I have to pee. It’s kind of like when kids don’t have to pee before you leave the house, but as soon as you’re in the car for a long car trip, their little bladders are immediately on the brink of exploding.

Anyway, the point is I had to pee. And I was sitting on a bench in the middle of the science center, far from a toilet. In fact, to get to the bathroom, I’d have to navigate through a maze of kids, parents, grandparents, strollers, terrariums, water cycle displays, and physics experiments. It would be a feat. I’d be endangering myself and my infant.

Plus, I didn’t have eyes on Tess and Sam and I didn’t want to leave my makeshift headquarters without telling them where I was going. I mean, Sam wouldn’t care or notice, but Tess would. She would inevitably have a massive crisis in the seven minutes I’d be gone. She’d probably pee her pants, and her wailing would alert concerned parents and Science City authorities and I’d be rebuked as a neglectful parent. All because of my tiny bladder and contracting uterus.

But I really had to pee. 

I tried to distract myself with my phone. I checked my email eight or nine times. Scrolled Instagram for the latest updates. Downloaded a new Sudoku game. Looked for some new Snapchat stories. 

Nope. Nothing worked. I still had to pee. 

It was time for a bathroom trip. But I’d feel a lot better if Sam and Tess were with me. It was too crowded to leave them on their own. And I question Sam’s decision-making skills. I have a feeling I always will. 

I stood, still clutching Lou to my chest, my nursing cover dangling from my neck and scanned the moving swarms of kids for the two of them. Tess was wearing a hot pink dress and Sam was wearing what’s becoming his trademark Captain America t-shirt so they were easy to find. 

“Come on, we’re going to the bathroom.”

We began our awkward waltz to the bathroom, dodging stationary objects and weaving in and out of kids who aren’t watching where they’re going. I was powerwalking, but Tess and Sam, typical kids, were distracted by anything and everything that floated into their line of vision—another kid, a bright color, a dust particle. 

When they’d stall, I’d look back and pivot, calling for them to catch up while rocking Lou and doing my own pee dance, all while avoiding collisions with other people, staircases, and walls. I burned more calories on that walk to the bathroom than I did in all my 2019 workouts combined. 

Finally, we arrived at the very crowded women’s bathroom. Sam hesitated, recalling that he’s, in fact, not a woman.

“Sam, it’s okay, you’re still young enough. Come on!” There was no time for an argument. I was going to need his help once we got in there.

Eyebrows raised, as if to say, “Is she serious?”, they glanced at one another for  reassurance and followed me, albeit reluctantly, into a stall.

“Sam, I need you to hold Lou while I pee,” I was hustling now, rushing to pull out a flimsy seat cover from its dispenser on the wall with one hand and toss it onto the toilet seat. I’ve seen Sam hold Lou and it’s not pretty, so I was trying to minimize the amount of time he needed to be in Sam’s arms. I just couldn’t really pull down my pants while holding a baby.

“Tess, pull the door shut!” That probably should have been Step 1.

And so, I peed. Sam, gripping Lou somewhere between his neck and upper back, his feet dangling somewhere around Sam’s kneecaps. Lou’s growing, I thought.

I was doing that Public Bathroom Squat, where your thighs hover over the toilet seat, quads and hamstrings burning. Had I been asked to do that same move in a workout class, I would have grumbled and complained, each second of muscle burn seeming like an eternity. But in a public restroom, I’d hold that pose for days, too afraid to make contact with that germy porcelain bowl and somehow get syphilis, chlamydia, or pregnant.

Suddenly, the stall door swung open. It turns out Tess hadn’t fully latched it. 

Our family bathroom escapade was now on full display for all bathroom occupants to witness. Mostly, people were too busy to glance in, hustling in and out, ushering their own children to sinks and back out to scientific pursuits. One woman washing her hands at the sink, however, glanced up and in her mirrored reflection, our eyes met. She frowned and furrowed her eyebrows, like she knew she had caught me in the lowest point of my day and felt shame on my behalf.

But I felt no shame. I just felt relief because I no longer felt like my bladder might explode inside my body.

“Tess! Quick! Shut the door!”

But Tess, knowing she had failed Operation: Shut The Door, startled and panicked, suddenly forgot how to shut a door. Eyes wide, she looked from me to the door, back to me and to the door again.

She persevered, though, and I composed myself so I could return to my nursing bench by the playground and Sam and Tess could return to their carefree kid lives. 

About forty-five minutes later, we had drifted to the outdoor playground—this mild winter weather is great! I had placed Lou in the Baby Bjorn on my chest and was pacing and swaying back and forth, Lou’s tiny hands gripping my fingers. I was trying to keep him calm while Tess and Sam got their last bits of fun and learning in. 

They were getting tired and hungry for lunch, I could tell, and Lou was due for another nap. I wasn’t sure who would meltdown first, but I knew we were on borrowed time.

Then I felt it. 

Little vibrations coming from Lou’s diaper. Then, much larger rumblings and finally, some smaller aftershocks to finish it off. The whole fecal earthquake only took two or three minutes, but I could tell it would require a diaper change. ASAP.

I racked my brain for the layout of Union Station, trying to determine the nearest bathroom—not the one we had just been in, that was back towards the entrance and I wanted to make our way to the car.

After several attempts, I convinced Tess and Sam that we needed to leave. Sam was pretty agreeable, he’s just so distractible that his pace slowed to a near-crawl. And Tess, much more resistant to my plan, was fading fast, practically falling asleep on our march to the bathroom.

But we got there, and as I pulled Lou out of the Bjorn and laid him on the changing table I could feel the runny poop seeping through his outfit. He had poop all up his back to the base of his neck. 

“Ew, Lou! You better hope I have a clean outfit in this diaper bag!”

He giggled. 

Sam and Tess kneeled at my feet, digging for snacks in my bag. They finally found some sort of trail mix—M&M’s, peanuts, cashews, Chex cereal, and yogurt covered raisins. They were housing the tiny morsels and didn’t seem to mind that the occasional M&M or cashews were falling on the concrete floor. Of the public restroom.

So my attention was split. With my fingers, I was delicately and urgently trying to remove Lou’s poopy clothing without getting it on anything. Meanwhile my feet were kicking the snacks that fell on the ground out of Sam’s and Tess’s reach.

“Hey!” they’d protest, peering up at me frustrated.

“That’s gross, don’t eat it!”

Soon their snacks were gone, either ingested or kicked to the other side of the bathroom floor, and Lou was in a clean outfit. I tossed his soiled and stained undershirt into the trash and stuffed the rest of our gear into the diaper bag. 

It was only after we got home and I was readying Lou for his nap that I noticed the smears of poop on his head. I dumped some food onto plates for Tess and Sam and called it lunch. Then I gave Lou a bath and set him in his crib for a nap, which he never took because he’s Lou. The end.