My son whipped out his penis and pissed in public today. Twice. It’s incredibly embarrassing.
I am the mother of “that” child who pisses without care wherever the hell he sees fit. I hate those feral little grots. Now I have one.
He is 3.5 years old and has been fully toilet trained for months, yet the length of time we have from “I need to pee” to “I HAVE to pee RIGHT NOW” to “I’m PEEING!” is still critically short because his bladder control is not quite up to the task of, well, controlling his bladder. This, of course, poses serious logistical problems when you find yourself nowhere in the vicinity of a public toilet, a scenario we found ourselves in twice today.
The first time we were in a store down at the end of the main street. Luckily the store was right next to a park with a toilet block, so the “I need to pee!” dropped on me completely out of the blue was met with relief because I knew we were going to make it. Unluckily for me, the toilet block was locked. The nearest open facilities were 500 metres down the road, which figures at around a thirty minute walk when you have a dawdling preschooler with you. We had no hope of getting there in time and I was paralytic with indecision.
All of these points were rendered moot because while I was still in the midst of that internal dialogue, my son had already walked up to the nearest tree, dropped trou and let flow, which was made significantly more embarrassing by the fact that a mother with her two small children were sitting with their backs to us on the other side of the trunk. Upon realising that someone had let forth with a stream of urine in their general direction I was thrown a glare. Me. Like it was my fault?
The next time it happened was half an hour later as we were walking past the bus terminal, which was great because it meant that there were a sizeable number of mid-transit commuters idling around to witness my shock and mortification as he casually pulled out his penis and urinated all over the sidewalk right in the midst of them all.
My son pissed into a crowd of people. This is not an event that will ever pass into the Pantheon of Proud Mama Moments.
The pavement had a slight incline so the best part was watching the incredulous sneers on people’s faces as they watched a large stream of my son’s urine slowly trickle down the pavement in a meandering zig zag, becoming an ever-expanding puddle of pee that a surging mob of freshly-disembarked rail commuters had to dodge as they walked past the bus stop and up the hill.
They had to STEP OVER my kid’s piss. Some of them even STEPPED IN my kid’s piss, because they had NO IDEA it was my kid’s piss. I caught some smirks out of the corner of my eye, which were a blessed relief from the looks of disgust and revulsion I had otherwise incurred as the mother of the public urinator.
The worst part was that while he was mid-flow in an abundant and seemingly endless stream of pee a smug mum of girls coming down the hill threw me a haughty look of disdain so fierce I cringed like a puppy dog who peed on Mummy’s champagne-coloured Jimmy Possum shag rug. I knew exactly what she was thinking. I used to think that too, before I had my boys.
Feral little grot. I blame his father.