Literally.
You see, at 22 weeks pregnant (with not one, but two babies pushing down upon my bladder) I have increased my trips to the bathroom to a much more frequent level. It's simply an annoying twist when I'm at home. However, it is always an adventure when I'm out and about.
Yesterday I took the boy to the library after school. As we passed the periodicals, descended to the children's area and approached the vicinity of the check-out desk, I checked out my surroundings. It is important to always know the exact coordinates of the nearest potty at all times. I was happy to spot a door marked "restroom" just to the left of the Clifford the Big Red Dog Poster and proceeded to browse the picture books with the boy.
Within minutes my brain registered that I needed to pee...immediately! So off I went to the door I had bookmarked in my brain just moments before. I was glad to see it was open and unoccupied. I waddled over just as quickly as I could, entered the room, shut the door and turned to realize it I had a problem.
Despite the fact that I entered through a real door and not some Alice in Wonderland miniature rabbit hole type of thing, I found myself in a microscopic bathroom made for the preschool set. The toilet came up to my calves. The sink was knee-high. There was even an itty-bitty, teeny-tiny mirror that reflected my not-so-teeny-tiny, not-so-itty-bitty belly, but not my shoulders, neck or head.
Not knowing the whereabouts of an adult bathroom and deducing that it was most likely at least one flight of stairs above me I had no choice but to use the petite potty. Since I struggle to get up off of a regular height couch, you can only imagine the challenge this posed.
The boy thought the episode was hysterial. Judging from the raised eyebrows of the librarians, they were not amused.
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