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“Well, isn’t that wonderful,” the woman says, her gaze softening.“The more love a child has in his life, the better.That’s what I say.”
“Me, too,” I agree, turning to watch Aaron zoom off the ice as they complete their line change.I feel terrible that I missed his goal while I was paying for popcorn, but I know he’ll forgive me.
And I’ll get to see him do it again.So far this season, he’s one of the Midges’ leading scorers.He’s having an incredible comeback and I’m so glad.I hope he gets four amazing years of dominating the NHL.
Then, I hope he wants to come home to me and our babies.
By halfway through the third period, the Midges are up by two goals, and Chase has to use the bathroom, so we say goodbye to the couple behind us and start up the stairs.
“But I don’t want to miss the end, Mama,” Chase says, already dancing a little as we ascend the bleachers.
“We won’t.We can watch it from the top of the stairs after you go potty,” I say, before adding in a whisper, “Then we’ll be closer to the stairs leading down to the locker room when it’s over.Daddy Aaron said you could come back and meet the team after everyone is dressed.”
Chase’s entire face lights up.“I do?I get to go inside?”
“You do,” I say.“As soon as the locker room monitors say it’s okay for family to come in.”
“Oh, Mama I’m so excited,” Chase says, grabbing the front of his jeans.“I’m so excited I don’t know if I can make it to the potty.”
“Yes, you can,” I say, picking up the pace.“You don’t have a pull-up on, buddy, and I didn’t bring extra clothes.We have to make it.Come on, you can do it.”
Chase slows, squirming.“Oh, no.Oh, no.Walking makes the pee come out!”
“Hold it, baby, I’ll carry you.”I scoop him up and take the stairs as fast as I can, grateful the exhaustion that plagued me the first trimester of my first pregnancy hasn’t set in with this one.We reach the top of the stairs and dash toward the restroom, where the ladies’ room line is out the door.
Cursing beneath my breath, I look for a family restroom, but there isn’t one.
So, I do what any mama bear would do in my position, I charge into the men’s room, shouting, “Woman coming in with a little boy!I’ll keep my eyes on the floor, but I’m coming in!He really has to go.”
Inside, one guy makes a startled sound as I hurry past the urinals, and I hear an older voice shout, “You can’t be in here, woman!This is the men’s room!”but my eyes are on the floor, as promised.
I head to the first open stall and dart inside with Chase.
The second his little feet are on the floor, I rip his pants down, plop him back on the potty, and help him tuck his stuff down far enough into the bowl to avoid a mess.We’re in far too high stakes a situation to risk helping him try to pee standing up.
“Oh wow!”Chase’s jaw drops as he shouts, “My pee is so fast!”
“It is,” I agree, laughing despite the old man still yelling at me for violating bathroom conventions outside.“Your pee is already playing for the NHL.”
Chase snorts.“I can’t wait to tell Daddy Awin.He’ll be so proud.”
I laugh harder, agreeing, “He totally will be.You’re a hero for making it to the potty when you had to go that bad.Next time, you need to tell me sooner, okay?So we have more time to get to the potty.It takes longer when we’re out and about than it does at home.”
“Okay, Mama.”Chase frowns as I help him off the potty, flush, and pull up his pants.He bites his lip, listening to the guy outside shout—“That’s it.That’s where she is.A woman in the men’s room, bold as brass!”—before asking, “Why is that man yelling about us?”
I sigh and whisper, “I don’t know, buddy.He has nothing better to do, I guess.Or maybe he’s just never really had to go potty super bad.But we’ll go wash our hands in the women’s room and get away from him, okay?We don’t have to wait in a long line for that.”
I take his hand and open the door but stop abruptly when I come face-to-face with a broad chest in a navy uniform.I tilt my head back until I lock eyes with a very tall, very meaty, veryunamusedsecurity guard.
I smile even as my pulse picks up.“Hi, we were just leaving.”
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he rumbles, a cold pleasure in his eyes, like he’s been waiting to bring down the hammer on a bathroom violator all day.
“I know, but my son really had to go to the bathroom and the line for the women’s room was way too long,” I explain.“It was an emergency.”
“Then he should have come in by himself,” the old man shouts from a few feet behind the guard.He’s wearing a Wisconsin jersey, has nacho cheese stains on his shirt and what looks like beer foam in his beard, but that isn’t stopping him from feeling entitled to claim the moral high ground.“That’s the problem with kids these days.Parents coddle them until they can’t even wipe their own asses.It’s bad parenting!”
“He’s three years old,” I shoot back, scowling his way.“It’s perfectly normal for him to still need help in the bathroom, and no way in hell am I sending my toddler into a bathroom with a bunch of strange men.Thatwould be bad parenting.”
