Why I Hate Public Restrooms

Today, I was guilt tripped invited to go out to lunch with my Gram to meet my great-aunt's granddaughter (I am still not clear on what that makes her to me? third cousin or something?). Gram, having the crazy old lady impeccable taste that she has, picked a crappy little diner with a menu chock-full of bacon. You know the kind of place, I suppose you'd call it a "greasy spoon," the seats stick to you, the waitresses are old and cranky, and if the food isn't good, you pretend it is anyway. 'Coz you don't wanna get shanked on your way out.

Now, considering the grimy texture of the table and chairs, I could very easily guess what the bathroom was going to look like. I was secretly praying that I wouldn't hear "Mommy!! I have to go potty!" during this little adventure. I mean, it was only going to be an hour or so. Surely my children could make it an hour without needing to use the bathroom.

But no. That would be too easy. A sudden foul smell from Jacob told me I was going to have to visit the nasty restroom, at least to change a diaper. And of course, when I got up to excuse myself to do that, James decided he also had to go. Perfect.

We enter the restroom. On the surface it's not too bad, except for the terrible decorating choice of peach-colored paint, dusty fake flowers, and an overabundance of brass. It definitely had that I-haven't-been-cleaned-in-a-while smell, but the fruity air freshener hiding somewhere in the room covered it up a little. Actually, the worst thing I noticed when I walked in to the bathroom was no changing table. Oh, God. The floor certainly would not do, and there wasn't even enough counter space to stick him up there to change him. There were two stalls, so I thought, hmm, maybe the changing table is in the handicap stall?

Of course, it was occupied. No problem, I can wait a minute, I thought to myself. James went in the other stall, and I thanked my lucky stars that he stands up to pee, because I didn't even want to think about how gross the toilet seat was. By the time James was done going, I was still waiting outside for the second stall to open up. I was starting to think it was a lost cause when I heard a flush!

No one came out.

Now I didn't want to go in THERE either, because if that lady had to flush before she was even done...yikes. I was considering just going out to the car to change Jacob's diaper, but of course, The War On Pants had already made my decision for me--Jake had his diaper half off already. And it was...probably about as disgusting as what the lady in the other stall was doing. No pulling it back up and taking him outside.

Changing a diaper while a child is standing up is a fine art. For some reason, it's extremely difficult to wrap my mind around the way their little butts look standing up compared to when they're laying down. So many little folds of baby fat! What normally takes one wipe takes at least three when I have to do this. And then there's the part where you have to put a new diaper on. It always bunches and never goes on straight. You'd think it would be a simple task, but it isn't. At least not in my world.

Add to this the fact that I made James stay in the tiny stall with us, and he spent the entire time yelling, "Look, Mommy! My pee is bigger than Jake's! His is tiny! Mine is bigger! Look!" (I can only imagine what the woman in the other stall was thinking).

This was, to say the least, one of the worst public restroom experiences I've had in a while. It very nearly tops the time I was a housekeeper and discovered a toilet tank--the TANK!-- full of brown chunks (don't worry, it turned out just to be a chocolate cookie. But it was an awkward few minutes until I figured that out).

When I finally managed to get Jake cleaned and re-diapered, we thoroughly washed our hands and left. The second stall? Still occupied.