It never fails.
There I am, minding my own business, and from nowhere, no warning, nothing, sneaking up on me like a puma in the night, I’m slapped in the face with unexpected humiliation!
I stand there, baffled. I laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because I’m mortified.
There he is. My sweet, innocent seven-year-old son staring back at me with exaggerated eyes, smiling from ear to ear.
You see, my seven-year-old has this condition called tell-all-my-moms-most-private-moments-to-everyone-and-anyone, and for whatever reason (call me lucky), I have been the most affected by it! I suppose it’s one of those “tokens” of motherhood everyone talks about, so I should embrace it, right? Wrong!
Things I would normally do naturally without hesitation, now must be questioned twice when my son is nearby.
You know, little things.
Like letting loose in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. I reach up to grab a box of Lucky Charms, and let one slip. I play it cool, glancing over at my son to see if he heard it. He didn’t. Thank God.
But… just as I thought I was in the clear, he looks up at me, his eyes widened as if he witnessed something remarkable, and then it happens… “Mom, you FAAAARTED!”
As if I already didn’t know.
He does the finger pointy thing to make it clear to everyone that I am indeed ‘Mom’.
And it’s not a simple and calm declaration, no. It’s an over-the-top announcement to everyone within a 5-mile radius!
You know, the little things.
Like shopping at Target for back-to-school supplies and my stomach unexpectedly starts doing the cha-cha dance!
I grab my son’s hand and race to the public restroom discreetly, careful to not draw any attention to ourselves. I check every stall, making sure they’re empty, because when nature calls in public, I tend to get poop anxiety. I mean, who doesn’t?
My son waits for me impatiently by the sink, playing with the soap and paper towel dispensers.
And just then, as if every customer in Target had to go at the same time, all stalls in the restroom are occupied, with a line out the door! My son rushes me to finish and before I can flush the toilet to signal to him that I’m done, it happens… “Mom! Are you done POOOOOPING?”
And it’s not a whisper, hush-hush question, no. It’s a blaring interrogation that can be heard from aisle 17!
All my hard efforts to conceal my public restroom activity was sadly, for nothing.
And I can’t be mad at him. He has no bad intentions. He’s just being, well, honest… right?
So, to all you moms and dads that have been publicly humiliated by your sweet, angelic children… think twice about what you say and do in their presence, that innocent toot, or that public restroom run.
And to those that haven’t, just you wait! Oh, just you wait! It’s coming!