“Where’s her diaper bag?” I asked my son as he was dropping off my granddaughter.
“Amie is potty trained, she doesn’t need a diaper bag any more,” he replied.
Amie promptly pulled down her pants to show me her big girl panties.
“Wow, that was fast,” I said. Then I asked Amie. “Are you ready to go swimming with Grandma?”
“Yes, let’s go simming,” Amie exclaimed. (She’s still working on her “w” sounds.)
So the two of us went to the local community center and spent a lovely hour swimming in the kiddie pool. I did put Amie in swimming diapers just to be on the safe side. I don’t really care if she pees in the pool, everyone knows that the liquid in a kiddie pool is half chlorine and half urine anyway. But I did not want any other type of accidents to happen in that water. After our swim we went into the locker room to change. As I got dressed, naked Amie played peek-a-boo by backing into an empty locker and pretending to shut the door. All the ladies in the locker room were smiling at her cuteness. That is, until she stood up in front of the locker and began to pee on the floor.
“I’m peeing,” said Amie.
“I see,” I replied. And then I dropped a towel on the floor and plopped her on top of it. “If you’re going to pee, then pee on the towel,” I said.
Then suddenly Amie began to squat down on the towel. “I have to poop,” she said.
“NO!” I yelled. “No pooping on the towel!”
I grabbed Amie’s naked body and began running to the toilets. “Pooping toddler, get out of my way,” I yelled to the women. I managed to get Amie onto the toilet just in time. After the usual wiping of the butt and forcing her to wash her hands, we both finished getting dressed. I was beginning to wonder about her status as a potty trained toddler.
As I bent down to tie my shoe, a familiar odor wafted up from where Amie was sitting. “Oh please don’t have pooped again,” I prayed silently. Slowly I sneaked a peek into the back of her pants, only to be greeted by a sea of brown sludge slowly creeping up the back of her big girl panties and down the sides. Amie looked at me and said, “I pooped again.”
No kidding. I’d never seen anything like it. A tsunami of poop was surging from her body. Grabbing Amie once again, holding her as far away from me as possible I ran back into the bathroom stall. The entire locker room reeked of poop. Nobody in the room was thinking Amie was cute any longer. In fact, several people were coughing.
Once in the extremely small bathroom stall, I tried to figure out how I’d get her panties off without creating an even bigger mess. I’d brought the towel with me and using as much care as possible, I eased off her clothes. “JUST STAND THERE AND DON’T MOVE,” I commanded. I had to leave the stall to go wet some paper towels to help with the cleanup because of course, I did not have a stupid diaper bag.
Arriving back into the bathroom stall, I was greeted with a world of smeared poop. It was all over the toilet, the side walls, the floor, the toilet paper dispenser and my granddaughter.
“Oh Jesus,” I said.
“Oh Jesus,” replied Amie as she wiped her dirty fingers onto her belly.
About 500 sheets of paper towel later, I had Amie in some semblance of cleanliness. I threw away her undies along with the paper towel.
“I thought you were potty trained,” I told her.
“I am,” she said proudly, standing there naked in front of me, her pot belly sticking out and her fat-creased thighs quivering with pride.
Who am I to argue? I gave her a hug and said, “do you think we should go to McDonald’s on the way home?”