Momhood means having to make a pit stop now and then in awkward–er–that is, creative places. Gotta do what you’ve gotta do, as I told my husband the evening after one such stop I made last week.
I was dropping off my friend in a busy city that always has at least a dozen major road repair projects going on during the football off season. I turned onto one such orange cone festooned main road. We were crawling along. I really needed to send a text message. I was a good girl and pulled into a place of business to conduct a text exchange.
That five minutes really cost me. By the time someone let me back into the snail’s pace line of traffic…the massive local high school had let out. Complete gridlock. We had been back on the road maybe three minutes (and had traveled three inches) when my sweet four year-old’s voice piped up from behind me. “Mom, I have to go potty.”
“Sweetheart, I think you can hold it. You went right before we left.”
I turned up their DVD. Funny how my husband and I can recite every word and sing every line from these shows that we’ve never actually seen. She was quiet through two changes of the streetlight ahead. Then–
“Mom, I really have to go.” She started kicking the seat in front of her.
“Sweetie, do you see how we are stuck right here, and there isn’t any place to go to the bathroom? I’m going to ask you to do your very best and hold it. I know you can do it.” I spied the sippy cup in her holder which my friend kindly had given her before we left. “A good idea right now would be to not–”
Slurp. Too late. “–drink any more of your drink.” I finished with a sigh.
“Well, it’s gone now.”
Another light change. Then another.
Muffled crying sounds from behind me. My mind raced. We had not even made it past school property. No way would I be able to pull into the jammed drive, find someplace to park, and hustle her into the gargantuan building…along with my two year old and eight month old, whom I certainly could not leave in a far-off parking space in a crazy-busy school parking lot.
The crying turned into wailing. “Mooommmm!!”
Doggone it! Why had I taken out that princess potty chair which had saved us so many times during our vacation??!!
“Sweetie, you can do this!”
“Noooo!!!! I can’t!!! The potty is down to where it comes out!! It’s RIGHT THERE!!!!!” Yes, I am blessed with a wonderfully articulate child. Who was in deep distress.
Then I saw it. (Cue the Hallelujah Chorus.)
A bright green port-o-potty, conveniently parked at the edge of an old school service drive, now gated closed. Pulled up next to it was a black pickup. The service drive was less than 50 feet ahead. We were close enough for me to see the orange vest of the construction worker inside the pickup.
“Sweetheart, we have a place for you to go potty. We’re going to count to 10, and we’ll be there! Ready? One, two, three…” She was crying too hard to count, but I could see that with this glimmer of hope before her, she was going to dig deep and try to make it.
“And ten!” I yelled triumphantly, wheeling the van up the drive and as close as possible to the port-o-john. I sprinted to the pickup. The worker had his window rolled down. My words tumbled out “I’m-so-sorry-interrupt-can-my-4-year-old-use-port-o-potty-emergency-situation!!”
He looked up from his clipboard, startled, then quickly regained composure. “Sure! No problem!”
I raced back to the van, unclipped my girl, grabbed the toilet paper still rolling around from our trip, carried her to our destination in two flying leaps, and parked her on the seat.
“We made it!!” I exclaimed. “Hooray, sweetie!!!”
She smiled weakly. “Mom, can you give me privacy? I have to go number 2.”
Wow. Wow. What a close shave. We narrowly missed a disaster of epic proportions.
As we headed back to the van, I waved a thank-you to the worker in the pickup. Buckling her back in, I said to her, “I am so, so, so, so proud of you, sweetheart. You did it!!”
Someday there will be no more emergency pit stops at a road crew’s fortuitously located port-o-potty, or behind a clump of trees off a country highway. “And won’t that be so sad?” says my husband. As almost always, he’s absolutely right.
Funny story, Mollie…but oh, so true! <3
We’ve all been there at some time. I cringe at port a potties but sometimes they are a life saver.
This one sure was! Thanks, Gloria!