I have posted many times about how Maxfield always chose bookstores as his favorite place to poop. That is no longer the case. Now that he is no longer in diapers, his new favorite “place” to go # 2, is in restaurants. The last two times we have been out to eat, Maxfield has announced to the table that “I aftoo go poopy”.
Maxfield using the toilet is always a gamble. Sometimes, when he announces he has to go, he has to GO RIGHT NOW, and I can barely get his pants off in time. Other times it is a 10 to 20 minute event which consists of him staring between his legs at his own reflection in the water while he grunts and groans.
A few weeks ago we were out with my parents in a small Italian place that was more of a take out joint with a few tables than it is an actual restaurant. The men’s room resembled a closet with a toilet that is probably used more by vagrants than actual customers. Needless to say it was not very clean.
When we entered the bathroom I had to make the split second decision to clean up a little and paper the seat or risk having an accident. Like I said, a gamble. I chose not to clean up, which was good because it was quick trip. Maxfield most likely picked up the Clap in that bathroom.
On Friday night, we took the kids to Ruby Tuesdays. We received our drinks and were waiting for our food when Max made his announcement. We entered the large tile covered, very clean bathroom and headed for the first stall. I got Max situated on the toilet and I closed the stall door behind me. His face reddened and I knew we would be there for a bit.
After a minute or two we could hear the bathroom door open. Max, as loud as he could, yelled, “HI.” He then proceeded to ask me questions at the same volume, his voice echoing off the tiles, “WHO IS THAT? IS THAT MAN PEEING? Oh, THAT’S THE TOILET FLUSHING.”
The door to the restroom opened again. “HI. HI. WHO IS THAT DADDY? IS THAT MAN GOING TO PEE OR POOP?”
A few minutes later we heard the door open again.
I heard a woman from outside the restroom door instruct her son to make sure he washed his hands when he was done, and that she would wait for the boy outside the door. The boy must of been 7 or 8 years old, old enough to go on his own but young enough that he needed his mother to wait for him. The stall door next to us opened and a pair of little feet appeared.
“DADDY LOOK. A LITTLE BOY IS POOPING. HI BOY. I CAN SEE HIS SHOES, Daddy.”
It became very quiet in the restroom as Max leaned over to see the boys feet and he listened intently to the sounds in the stall next to us. We heard the little boy pee. “HE IS PEEING.”
We could hear the plopping in the toilet next to us. “THE BOY IS POOPING. IS THAT A BIG POOPY OR A LITTLE POOPY?”
The boy stood up. Which Max announced, “HE IS WIPING HIS HEINIE, DADDY.”
The toilet next to us flushed. “HE FLUSHED THE TOILET DADDY. Bye Bye boy. Bye Bye Poopy.”
I felt so bad for that little boy.