Driving home from swimming lessons yesterday, we stop at a local fast food joint to pick up some hamburgers because, quite frankly, yesterday called for hamburgers. Also? Cocktails.
Benjamin is wet and sitting on a towel in his booster carseat enjoying a French fry and regaling the car with his feats of swimming including the flinging of himself down the ever popular Pink Froggy Slide of Speed. All of a sudden he pauses and announces, “Mommy! I have to go potty! Now.”
Are we anywhere near our house yet? Nope.
Of course we’re not.
We’re also not near anywhere I can drag a soaking wet toddler into to use the potty.
“Buddy, I need you to hold it. We’ll be home in 8 minutes. Can you do that?”
“Yeth.” [Also takes order literally and grabs his penis]
I ask Leah to stop talking so he (and I) can concentrate on the job at hand. I’m fairly certain I drove about 254 mph to try to get home in time. I was notified by a very stressed little boy in the back seat that, “I can’t hold it, Mommy…” no less than four times, but, by G-d, he did the best he could.
We turned on to our street and his whining kicked up 2 decibels so I decided it made no sense to deal with opening the garage door, unbuckling him, fumbling for keys, unlocking a door, running to a bathroom and pulling his pants down in the HOPES he’d make it.
I did what any logical mother would do in this situation. Parked in the driveway, unbuckled him, picked him up and stuck him in the grass next to our house, pulled down that wet bathing suit and said, “GO!”
He looked a little confused. “Mommy? I’ve never pishied in the grass befoa…”
“It’s okay, Buddy. Go ahead.”
That’s about when he became a four year old human sprinkler head – much to his delight and to Leah’s.
Now seriously, a four year old girl in this situation just doesn’t have this option.
Winner: Boys Team.