The word of the day around here is penis because, well, because my boys are 6 and 3 and no word in the English language is more hilarious to them.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I took our boys on a little weekend getaway to my dad’s vacation house. (Although it’s actually a house he found in the city for way cheap, I love calling it “my dad’s vacation house” because it makes us sound old-money rich. I learned on Real Housewives of Australia that there is a very important difference between “old-money rich” and “new-money rich,” and that one should always specify because it’s way better to be old-money rich. Apparently that kind of rich automatically comes with a shit-ton of class. I’m actually neither form of rich, but it’s good to know the rules, just in case.) We were eating at a popular restaurant beloved by both kids and adults when my 3-year-old announced that he needed to use the bathroom.
It’s easier if I just take him into the women’s restroom with me, as he’s still scared of how loud the toilets flush in public places, and I’m currently the preferred parent for when he’s scared or upset. An automatic flushing toilet will just about send him over the edge, poor guy, and even if the toilets are manual flushers with handles and I wait until he gets out of the stall to flush it, there are still the sounds of other people flushing toilets in the surrounding stalls that scare him.
It’s kind of an ordeal sometimes, but we’ve worked out ways to deal with public restrooms, and he does okay.
On this particular visit, he wanted me to come into the stall with him because it was busy and toilets were going off left and right. By the grace of God, he peed without incident, and then, since it really was very busy and there was a long line of women to get into the restroom, I asked him if he’d be okay if Mommy went potty, too, while we were already in there.
“I’m okay, Mommy,” he assured me, hands clasped tightly over his ears. A toilet in a neighboring stall flushed and he jumped, but then he reassured me by saying, hands still over his ears, “It’s okay, Mommy. It wasn’t that loud.”
So I peed. I noticed how big the cracks in the door of the stall were; I saw at least 3 other women waiting in line outside the stall and hoped they couldn’t see me. I remember thinking with a laugh that at least I had worn my cute Victoria’s Secret underwear. I don’t get the really cute ones, mind you, because I’m a huge tightwad. Mine come off of the 5 for $27 table and I always get the cotton—but at least if the ladies in line decided to be peeping Toms and watch as I popped a squat, they’d see some pretty underwear.
Tell me I’m not the only one who has absentminded thoughts like this as she’s taking a piss in a busy place with unusually large stall cracks?
Anyway, after I finished, I stood to quickly pull up my shorts. My son, now seemingly completely at ease in the bathroom despite the multiple flushes going on all around us, picked the ONLY SILENT MOMENT—the only whole second that there had been between toilet flushes since we’d been in there—to say this:
“MOMMY, I SAW YOUR PENIS.”
I gave what I hoped was a girly chuckle. “How many times do I have to tell you that girls don't—just, never mind. Mommy doesn’t have a penis.”
I’m not sure how believable I sounded, because even when I try to make it high, I still have the huskiest-ass man voice you’ve ever heard. So instead of trying to explain once again (because we've had this conversation before) that girls do not have penises (peni?), we just hightailed it the fck out of there—toilet left unflushed—before any of those peeping Toms had a chance to mistakenly call security over the pervert in the women’s bathroom.