Gwyn had her first public accident yesterday.
Actually, she had two. In the same day. I consider myself partially to blame, though. I had just picked Gwyn up from preschool and she usually uses the potty before I pick her, but there was a different teacher there that day and I’m not sure how often she was encouraged to go, not knowing that Gwyn is new to the potty scene.
Anyway, we headed to the park and soon after we arrived, Gwyn said she needed to use the potty. So, we immediately made our way to the bathrooms but as soon as she saw the big metal toilet with a large bug in it, she suddenly didn’t feel the urge to go anymore, which I didn’t blame her. I trusted that she could hold it, or that she didn’t have to go too bad to begin with, and we continued to play. As soon as we were about to head home, Gwyn made some squealing noises and motioned that she had wet her pants.
It wasn’t too bad, maybe the size of a juice box, so when we got to the car I changed her out of the wet clothes and into the dry undies and pants that I kept in my purse. I patted myself on the back for remembering to keep spare clothes on hand, and we then headed to the store to pick up a few items.
I thought we were good to go since she had just had an accident, but I was just a little bit wrong about that one.
With one item in the cart, Gwyn looked up at me and started to squeal again. It took me a moment to realize what was happening and when I looked down at her lap, her gray leggings were now soaking wet all around her bum area, as if she’d sat in a puddle. Not wanting to sit on it, she resorted to leaning on her lower back with her legs spread in the air for the world to see.
Mortified, I told her to sit on her legs to try and cover it up, but she wasn’t having it. She was not embarrassed whatsoever. She was more concerned with how it felt and was trying her best to stay spread-eagle in the shopping cart. Of course I was furthest from the entrance to the store as I could possibly be, and of course Gwyn wasn’t exactly discrete about what had just happened. In fact, she was quite vocal about it.
Well you’d better believe I mad-dashed out of that store, but once I got to the parking lot I wasn’t sure what to do. I was all out of dry clothing. Not so smart, now, was I!?
I ended up stripping the kid of her wet clothing and having her sit on her sweater while we drove home.
While on that drive home I remembered a time that I wet my pants and I was in awe at how different Gwyn and I responded to the situation. I was at the park, maybe about 5-6 years old, with a large group of kids from my daycare. There wasn’t a bathroom at this park, and as soon as I got there I remember having to go so badly that it hurt.
Before I knew it, I had wet my pants and was beyond humiliated. So, before anyone realized what I had done, I went and sat on a park bench that was in the sun… and I just sat. I sat for the entire time we were at the park. Kids played around me. Laughing, screaming, running and having a great time. And I just sat in the beating sun, trying to dry off. My hair must have been parted down the middle that day, probably in braids, because I can still remember how hot the part on my scalp felt from the sun.
I remember becoming so thirsty that I salivated watching the other kids drinking the cool water from the fountain. I tried plotting how I could sneak over there, just for one sip, but ultimately decided against it in fear of someone seeing my wet pants.
When it was time to leave I was so nervous I almost started to cry. I slowly pealed myself off of the park bench and was beyond thrilled and relieved to learn that my pants were dry. I am SURE that I smelled of urine, though no one ever said anything to me.
I spent (what I think to be) nearly two hours sitting on a park bench, which for a kid is incredibly hard to do, just because I was mortified about wetting my pants.
Gwyn wets her pants and lays spread-eagle for the world to see her pee-stained gray pants, not a care in the world, mortifying me.
I realize these things happen and that there are a few years’ age difference between myself and Gwyn in these two stories, but it just baffles me how different that toddler and I can be.
I am just mortified by pee.
She, clearly is not.
Have a great weekend!
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