A Toddler's Honesty

DISCLAIMER: If poop stories make you nauseous, please disregard this post.

It seems only yesterday that Erik and I spent countless hours poised at Ava’s mouth, desperately hoping that the words Mommy or Daddy would invariably pop out. We dedicated myriad conversations toward attempting to translate her various burbles, raspberries, and mewls into some sort of language. Believe me, it was a full time job.

Well, baby, we’ve come a long way since then! Ava is now one of the most fluent toddlers I have ever met. More than that, she brings honesty to language in a way that I find intermittently refreshing and humiliating. I no longer need a mirror to discover my physical flaws. Mommy, you have a pimple—right there (pointing). Nor do I need to continually peruse her adorable little face to intuit her current emotion. Mommy, you are making me angry (foot stomp)! I’ve taken to recording these clever Ava-isms in a small red journal, and if I’m having a bad day all I need to do is travel through its pages for an instant pick-me-up. Of course, there have been a few incidents I would rather not record for all of posterity.

Take a recent trip to Wal-Mart. As usual Ava and I ended up in the bathroom. This time, however, it was due to Mommy and not Ava. You get the idea.

Ava: Mommy, your POOP STINKS.

Mommy: Please, for the sake of all that is family, lower your voice.

Ava: But it STINKS! Are you DONE YET?

Mommy: Get in my purse! Read a book! Chew some gum! Sit on the dirty floor! Anything!

It was at this moment—not my proudest—when Ava and I both noticed a distinct pair of shoes standing outside of our stall. I probably should have mentioned that we were in the handicapped stall, as I had assumed it would give her more room to move around. Uh-oh. As I froze, Ava took interest and approached to investigate. Just then someone rattled the stall door hard enough to have her scurrying back toward the toilet and me wishing for an invisibility cloak. Or a tranquilizer dart.

Ava: Somebody’s OUT THERE!

Mommy: *&%F#^*^(&*^(^*&!

I waited, hoping this woman—whoever she was—would take pity on my soul and seek out a different stall. In desperation I dropped my head to the floor and counted at least five other available stalls. Why was she still here? Why was she determined to stand in a cloud of toxic vapor? WTF?

Frantically I finished the task at hand and gathered up my daughter, the scattered contents of my purse, and my tattered dignity. Then, with a deep breath, I prepared to open the stall door and come face-to-face with the woman who was determined to witness my walk of shame. Much of what came next was a blur, as my only real memory of this woman remains the soft blue loafers she wore. However, in passing, I did notice that she was rather large in size, a fact which perhaps would explain her determination to wait out the handicapped stall. My main focus was the door, my gateway to escape. I had almost reached it when….

Apparently Ava felt it necessary to explain to this woman why we had taken up so much of her time. My beloved toddler’s honesty simmered to the surface once again as she offered up a sunny smile.

Ava: Mommy POOPED. It STINKS.

How’s that for honesty?