The roofers are here pounding away on our house today so I took the boys out for a nice lunch at the coffeeshop to get away from the noise. Charlie and Wesley chatted happily over croissants (Wes) and a blueberry bagel (Charlie) while I sipped my coffee and tried to maintain a semblance of order at our table.
I had forgotten a sippy cup so Wesley was drinking water out of a paper coffee cup with a lid. He probably got one of the sixteen ounces into his mouth. The rest ran down his chest and, once his shirt was completely soaked, pooled on the seat of the highchair before dripping down onto the floor and turning the lost croissant crumbs into concrete.
Slightly horrified that the two wonderful women who run the coffeeshop, and who I chat with every time I go there, were going to find the mess, I tried to mop it up the best I could with my napkin. Every time I leaned over to scrape more crumbs onto my plate Wesley dropped another gooey croissant chunk onto the floor. It continued until I hid his drink behind the menu and fed him tiny pieces of croissant one at a time. I longed for the safe anonymity of the Big Green Coffeeshop on the other side of the highway.
When I'd had enough mortification I announced to Charlie that it was time to go. Wesley's dripping onesie soaked the entire left side of the white shirt I was wearing, but I was not aware of the resulting peep show I was putting on until after I had already told Charlie he could play for a few minutes in the toy corner. Needless to say, I had to reneg that offer when I realized that potentially all of the other diners could tell I had breastfed two babies.
Charlie needed to go potty because it had been a while, and I didn't want him to have an accident in the restaraunt, so when I was paying for our lunch I told him he could go to the potty by himself. The counter faced the bathroom and with the door open I could see Charlie's foot as he sat on the potty. I watched as he skipped off to the bathroom, so proud of his big boy independence then watched like a hawk to make sure he didn't come out and go somewhere I couldn't see him. All seemed to be well.
Wesley and I stood there for several minutes, both soaked, watching while the waitress refilled my coffee and got water for another table.
The waitress was almost ready to ring up my order when over the music, over the conversation, over the clinking of glasses and forks on plates I heard a small voice yelling.
"MAMA! MAMA! COME HERE! I GO POTTY! MAMA! MAAAMAAAA!! I GO POTTY IN DA POTTY!! MAMA COME HERE I NEED HELLLLLLP! I GO POTTY! I GO POTTY! I NEED HELP!"
With absolute dread that he was about to come hopping out of the bathroom half naked with both legs through the same leg hole in his undies (which is what would be indicated by a similar outburst at home), I quickly excused myself and ran to the bathroom as fast as I could holding Wesley.
He was still sitting on the potty with the door open when I arrived. He beamed from ear to ear.
"I go potty!"
I smiled as I got him dressed with one hand then led him past the owner of the coffee shop, who was using both a broom and a mop to clean up our table, out of the restaraunt to the car, using Wesley to cover my soaking wet shirt.