It’s been an eventful month. From the white sandy shores of South Beach
to the NBC Studios in NYC…we came, we saw, we conquered.
For three glorious days friends and I lived
the good life in Miami, eating, sleeping, drinking and doing whatever it is we
please. Sipping mimosa as we cruised to
the Bahamas, lounging by a South Beach pool with the buzz of electronica in our
zenned out ears, reading full chapters of our books, eating hot food, drinking
cold beers, and wearing heels! This mama
needed a break to refresh, recharge and Miami delivered.
On the plane ride home I was jazzed to see my
ladies. I’d missed their squishy little
hands, their giggles, the way the smell like a nice warm shower…I couldn’t wait
to give them squeezies, and tell Tiny all about the beach lined with Conch shells as
far as the eye could see.
As the plane touched down, and I turned off
Airplane Mode, the phone rings. It’s Nana
presumably to tell me they are waiting outside to fetch me.
But, its not that simple. It never is. Liesee has to go potty and she only wants me
to take her, they’re on their way in….well, that didn’t take long. My mom hat officially back on, I rush off the
plane, find Nana, hand her my carry on and scoop up Tiny to head for the airport potty. She pees, I pee…pants up, tutu back on,
check, check. I attempt to exit, doing my best to slide the lock
but it won’t budge. We are trapped. I’m jiggling, wiggling, pulling,
prodding…nothing. I start banging,
knocking, (cursing), kicking…nothing. We
have one choice, and it ain’t pretty.
Our fight is gone, flight the only option…but who do I send under first.
There’s about an 8” clearance between the
bottom of the stall door and the grimy tile floor, and the stall is small,
really small (hard for two people even though one of them is a toddler to stand
without touching the toilet or the door small) and I do a quick calculation in
my head and decide Tiny has to go out first.
The possibility of her running out of the bathroom without me seems less
risky then the thought of leaving her in the toilet alone to touch and lick
whatever she pleases. She ducks under in
two seconds flat, and happily screams “its your turn mama!” And, the thought occurs to me, she’s actually
enjoying this.
I get down on my knees to try and squeeze
under, but the clearance is too low.
I’ve got to bite the bullet and lay flat on my stomach and army crawl my
butt out of there. I’m sick, and not
from the tequila two nights earlier, but from the smell of lemon scented
disinfectant and public restroom stank that’s washing over me as I slither
out. While the bottom of the door is
leaving a nice scrape across my spine, I’m struck by the hilarity of it all. Less than 24 hours ago I was lying out on a
hot sandy beach, and now I’m lying on the cold, gritty floor of an airport
bathroom. This is who I really am: a
mama, her mama. Who else would lie down
on the bathroom floor for her?
Tiny
is thrilled, we’ve made it out, and I may as well be a super hero.…we both jump
up and down and then perform a surgical scrub in the bathroom sink, making note
to burn the clothes on our backs when we get home. Leave no evidence.
For a few short days I was all mine, and I
needed that to reconnect with me. But now I’m all hers... bathroom cooties and
all.
Next stop, NYC…
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| Awwwww….paradise! |
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| Tiny dressed herself for our date night. |
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| Yep…still the happiest kid on earth. |
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| I can't imagine what 'wisdom' Tiny is sharing, but Teeny hangs onto her every word. T-R-O-U-B-L-E |
