Ava is mostly in knickers these days. At 2 and 3 months, I am quite impressed with myself, although my mother swears that when my sister and I were babies, we were in knickers full time at one. My mother forgets that she stayed home full time and that I spend most of my days dealing with other peoples children whilst well-meaning, educated strangers play with, toilet, put to bed and feed my child. Oopsy. Maternal guilt? I think so.
So days revolve around questions that should embarrass me.
"Do you need to do wee? No? Poo? No? Are you wet? Did you use the toilet? Are knickers for wees?" and so on and so forth.
Today we were walking though the shopping centre, on my way to my weekly weigh in at the chemist. (another story altogether!) I ask
"Do you need to do wees?"
"Ahhhhhhh, ummmmmmmm.... Yeah."
Okay, luckily there is a small public toilet just off to our left. Ava has a pink sparkly handbag at the shops today with fairies on it, so she walks down the small hallway, singing away about fairies and sparkles and other fancies of hers. She starts to run, side to side, zig zagging and singing, and I realise that a woman is trying to get past.
Awkward, understanding smile. I say sorry, she smiles again, and direct Ava in a straight line towards the door. The woman holds the door open for us. I hold the next one open for her. We smile at each other again, shaking our heads at small children in general with mock exasperation.
The toilet comprises of two tiny cubicles, one of which we go into, the lady the other. Righty-ho, off pants, off knickers, position tiny 2 year old on seat, make sure she doesn't fall in. Time for wee.
Me: " Do your wee, Ava"
Ava: " Come on wee, come one!" (she crooks her finger and keeps calling, like in the old cartoons. Who taught her that?!)
Me: You doing wees?
Ava: No. (uncomfortable silence whilst we wait.)
It's not a common thing to talk about what you hear inside public toilets, when people you don't know are using the same facilities as you. Women are mortified of it, men accept it as normal.
Ava: Mummy, she's doing poos!
Me: (Oh my God! Damage control...) You need to do poos, sweetheart?
Ava: NooOOOOoooooo! LISTEN!
At this point Ava leaned over and banged, hard, on the cubicle divider. It echoed around the tiny toilet like a gun shot in the very awkward silence.
Ava: The lady Mummy, she's doing poos. Over there.
Me: (using my "dangerous whisper") Okay. Fine. Have you done wees yet?
OF COURSE the lady opened her door at EXACTLY THE SAME TIME as we did, washed her hands and left when we did. My face glowed red, like a beacon, the entire time, pointing me out. HERE SHE IS! HER DAUGHTER TALKED ABOUT YOUR POO! SHAMEFUL WOMAN! HOW DARE SHE UPSET THE DELICATE SOCIETAL BALANCE!
There you go, Mike. Another blog about poo.