Today I would like to give you, my lovely readers, just four (out of thousands) of embarrassing moments my children can never take back; reminding you that you are certainly not alone in this thing we call parenthood.
— Sophie and I were in a public restroom at the beach recently. After she relieved herself, I told her to stand to the side so I could sit down to do my business.
(Before I go on let me add this was a rather busy bathroom that was packed tight with listening ears.)
As I hovered myself over the toilet, she looks at my bum, then at my face … then at my bum again. She then yells out and I mean YELLS in the most compromising kind of way, “Mama, your butt is too big for this potty, is that why you don’t sit down?”
— I am not one to pass gas in front of just anyone, heck, my best friends of 15 years have seldom heard me do the deed. It personally just feels icky (for lack of a better term) and I prefer to keep my business to the solitude of a washroom or secluded area.
However, there are moments when your stomach is in a retched knot of gassiness and you know that the small and innocent act of passing gas will make you feel a million times better.
The kids and I were in the grocery store — I am in such stated predicament, so I began looking for a discreet locale to … well … release. It was then that Sophie took off in a run for no apparent reason. It was then that I grabbed Lars and hobbled awkwardly after her. It was then that I desperately tried to hold it in, yet found myself completely unsuccessful in that plight.
Let me paint you a picture: me running, butt clenched in futility, screaming at my child in a disturbingly demonic voice to, “Stop, stop where you are!” All the while I am exhaling loud puffs of pong from my rear. People are looking. People are pointing.
And to add insult to injury, Lars begins laughing hysterically asking, “Why are you farting so much Mom?”
— I love dresses, they are cool and their flow is simply perfect for the balmy summertime weather. What they are not perfect for is going on walks with the kids. Unfortunately, this little nugget of information came to me a little too late.
The day was a scorcher but the kids wanted to go for a walk to the park. I slapped some sunscreen on them, their hats and shoes, and we were ready to roll. I decided a nice long walk would get them good and tired so we opted for one of the further parks from our home. We arrived, they played and all was good.
As we were walking back, I could see the fatigue in the children, especially little Sophie as she was trailing behind us considerably. It would not be long before she was dragging herself by fingertips along the black asphalt path we trudged.
So I grabbed my babe by the arms and swung her up onto my back. We walked for a bit and several times snickering skateboarders would roll past us laughing their juvenile raunchy laugh. I was beginning to wonder what the hell was so funny when I caught a brisk draft floating in and around an area in which the wind usually does not grace.
Turns out the girl’s foot had slipped under the hem of my dress as I lifted her up, revealing my backside for all of the path’s patrons to see. On the bright side, I got a bit of a tan on an otherwise pretty pasty zone.
— Over winter, the kids and I did a lot of swimming at the pool. On one occasion, after swimming as we were getting changed in the change-rooms, I unintentionally flashed everyone in the joint … almost full frontal. Let’s just say ‘full enough’ frontal.
This is what you get when you dress your children first and leave for last the struggle of removing your sticky clingy one-piece that is not nearly as flattering when peeling down your body. Your three-year-old daughter will indeed get bored of watching your undertaking and decide to fling open the door to the stall.
There I was standing half naked and in shock to a room full of women and children, rolls of belly jelly hanging over the bottom half of suit that was still sucking in my lower portions (I’d like to say thankfully, but I’m not sure if ‘thankful’ would be the word for it).
At that moment, I was a deer in the headlights and all I could do was stand there trusting I was not the only woman who had ever been duly embarrassed by their unaware offspring.
Lindsay Brown is a Sylvan Lake mother of two and freelance columnist.