I noticed it when we were going potty. We use the big wheelchair ones at the back. You know, because we have a wheelchair? I was a bit glad when she got the pink chair. I didn't have to worry about irate middle aged women harassing me about using handicapped utilities. I love the automatic doors, but we can totally do old school backwards.
Chickadee likes to have a conversation while we pee.
I don't.
But, one must accommodate when one has an audience. Just as I finished up, she implored me.
"You need to go potty too?"
Yup. So I started the long process of extracting her from her seat, chatting a little to keep her calm. Like a lot of 3 year olds, she has a hard time holding it once she's decided it's time.
"Here. We're just going to unbuckle your belt...get your arms right...okay, hold onto mommy and you're out!"
Chickadee usually panics at this point. Gravity takes over.
"Let's strip you down, don't worry. It's just your diaper now..."
Then we swing around only to discover that I haven't gotten out her folding potty seat.
"CRAP!"
"No wait, don't do that Honey. Hang on."
This is the part where I let Chickadee hang over one arm and unfold the seat one handed. She moans a little, getting closer to popping. Finally she gets to perch.
Success! I woop a bit. She's three.
Uh-oh.
"Are you all done? Ready to get off?"
Dang. She thinks she needs to poop. I'm an impatient mommy when helping her poop in a public restroom means that I must either sit on my heels or squat. She rolls her eyes and wishes she didn't need me to keep her steady. Chickadee has more angst than the typical 13 year old. The girl deserves it.
"Are you done?"
Ha! as if! I try to hold on a little bit longer, but the burn is worse than a thighmaster. Chickadee thinks nothing of a 15 minute potty time. She figures that she can't get there herself, and mommy is unreliably busy. So, she just hangs out until "it" happens. It's wonderful.
Really.
To divert us I ask,
"Do you want your music?"
I dart quickly to my hanging purse and grab the music. We play this:
I turn it down a little. A bit embarrassed as hospital patrons come and go. Chickadee sways happily. She convinces me to sing along. Softly.
Finally! She finishes up and I get her wiped off, put back together and strapped in. We chit chat the whole way about the long drive home. About seeing Mr.Survival and her siblings. Shooting the breeze. She's much happier.
Fifteen minutes after going IN, I leave her in her chair with the wheels locked to open the door. I open the door.
Have you ever had the feeling that all eyes are on you? Even when only a couple of the people are actually looking at you? The entire room goes silent. People stop rubbing their hands under the water. Streams of pee actually stop. What? They do!
That's when it hit me. These people thought I was alone. Little miss nonverbal Chickadee had been talking to me all this time with her EYES! Looking into mine to say yes, looking away to say no. Curling her precious lip to portray disgust. Body language. She patted my hand to get me to sing, but nobody knew that!
Se la vie! There's nothing I can do about it. Chickadee was getting sick, had no cozy comfortable wheelchair snuggie (because she pooped on it at the dr. office-which is why she took such great care to poop while she could) and I just DIDN'T CARE WHAT THEY THOUGHT! I turned around, collected Chickadee and our bags and left.
Chattering away as we went.
Are any of you certifiable too?
get yourself a new website and donate for Chickadee
Please remember to donate for Chickadee's therapy dog.
Chickadee likes to have a conversation while we pee.
I don't.
But, one must accommodate when one has an audience. Just as I finished up, she implored me.
"You need to go potty too?"
Yup. So I started the long process of extracting her from her seat, chatting a little to keep her calm. Like a lot of 3 year olds, she has a hard time holding it once she's decided it's time.
"Here. We're just going to unbuckle your belt...get your arms right...okay, hold onto mommy and you're out!"
Chickadee usually panics at this point. Gravity takes over.
"Let's strip you down, don't worry. It's just your diaper now..."
Then we swing around only to discover that I haven't gotten out her folding potty seat.
"CRAP!"
"No wait, don't do that Honey. Hang on."
This is the part where I let Chickadee hang over one arm and unfold the seat one handed. She moans a little, getting closer to popping. Finally she gets to perch.
Success! I woop a bit. She's three.
Uh-oh.
"Are you all done? Ready to get off?"
Dang. She thinks she needs to poop. I'm an impatient mommy when helping her poop in a public restroom means that I must either sit on my heels or squat. She rolls her eyes and wishes she didn't need me to keep her steady. Chickadee has more angst than the typical 13 year old. The girl deserves it.
"Are you done?"
Ha! as if! I try to hold on a little bit longer, but the burn is worse than a thighmaster. Chickadee thinks nothing of a 15 minute potty time. She figures that she can't get there herself, and mommy is unreliably busy. So, she just hangs out until "it" happens. It's wonderful.
Really.
To divert us I ask,
"Do you want your music?"
I dart quickly to my hanging purse and grab the music. We play this:
I turn it down a little. A bit embarrassed as hospital patrons come and go. Chickadee sways happily. She convinces me to sing along. Softly.
Finally! She finishes up and I get her wiped off, put back together and strapped in. We chit chat the whole way about the long drive home. About seeing Mr.Survival and her siblings. Shooting the breeze. She's much happier.
Fifteen minutes after going IN, I leave her in her chair with the wheels locked to open the door. I open the door.
Have you ever had the feeling that all eyes are on you? Even when only a couple of the people are actually looking at you? The entire room goes silent. People stop rubbing their hands under the water. Streams of pee actually stop. What? They do!
That's when it hit me. These people thought I was alone. Little miss nonverbal Chickadee had been talking to me all this time with her EYES! Looking into mine to say yes, looking away to say no. Curling her precious lip to portray disgust. Body language. She patted my hand to get me to sing, but nobody knew that!
Se la vie! There's nothing I can do about it. Chickadee was getting sick, had no cozy comfortable wheelchair snuggie (because she pooped on it at the dr. office-which is why she took such great care to poop while she could) and I just DIDN'T CARE WHAT THEY THOUGHT! I turned around, collected Chickadee and our bags and left.
Chattering away as we went.
Are any of you certifiable too?
get yourself a new website and donate for Chickadee
Please remember to donate for Chickadee's therapy dog.
Ha! I bet they all felt stupid after that.
ReplyDelete:) Good on you for not caring what they think. Hey, when babies need to poo, momma's gotta do what momma's gotta do.
:)
Yes, of course I am certifiable. I sing at work, with my iPod in my ears, so that I am the only one who cannot hear my tone-deaf ness. So glad to see Chicakdee's numbers rising!!! Therapy dog, here you come!
ReplyDeletePolar's Mom
www.polarspage.blogspot.com
Oh yes, totally certified here. This post is great! So relatable!! Good for you for not caring! Hugs!
ReplyDeleteThere are days (frequent) when I feel certifiable, but no one has actually certified me yet. I think they are scared to get that close.
ReplyDeleteAh yes. Certifiable. Me that is. Lots of times. I love where you relay that Chickadee's part was non-verbal, but you only told us that well after giving us a run through of the conversation. That is beautiful ... despite the burning thighs from a 15 minute lunge ... the sentiment is beautiful.
ReplyDeletedefinitely certified. thanks for making me laugh out loud. i have conversations with "myself" all day every day.
ReplyDeleteYep certified here too. Ohh my thighs are burning with you tonight. Two hours clutching and shifting in traffic jam from the Point of Mt to AF exit where I finally bailed off. Oh they are acheing right now.
ReplyDeleteZ boy says he remembers when little guy talked and laughed and had fear with his little eyes. The older kids who spent less time with him can't remmeber it that much. I never had to talk to myself in a public bathroom but I admit there was alot of negotiating with equipment when on Dr. trips so I feel for you there. Never never feel subcounscious they are all the crazy ones for sitting there listening to u.
I think this is one of my favorite stories you've ever written. Lovely.
ReplyDeleteI knew that I was certifiable before, but this just shed some new light on it all. I frequently get the pleasure of squatting in a public bathroom waiting for Claire to pee, talking with her the whole time, but it never occurred to me that people would think anything strange about it at all! But now that you mention it, I have gotten a lot of looks over the past two years, I thought it was just because they had never seen a child in a wheel chair before, but it might more that they hadn't seen a crazy lady pushing a child in a wheel chair.
ReplyDeleteLOVE this. What an awesome bond you two have.
ReplyDeleteOh dear! So what's my excuse then? I have no Chickadee... it's just me, myself, and I conversing away. (Too many hours spent alone in my office.)
ReplyDeleteThis had me cracking up!
ReplyDeleteA) Because I love kid+bathroom stories. You can never go wrong with those.
B) Because I am certifiable myself and totally understand people looking at you funny.
C) Because your daughter sways on the potty to Bing. AWE-SOME.