In the Locker Room

5 07 2012

Before Hazel’s swim lesson, as we stand in the locker room with my mother, I feel a splash on my foot.

“Is she peeing on me?” I ask, totally un-horrified, because I’m ten months into this gig, and piss on my foot is, like, nothing.  In fact, instead of saying like water off a duck’s back, I now nonchalantly throw out my newest simile whenever appropriate, Oh, I just let your judgement of my parenting roll off me like toddler urine off an experienced mother’s big toe.


I catch the eye of the woman changing into her swimsuit just behind my mother, and quickly correct myself: “Or is it just water from the shower?”

“Oh, no,” assures my mother, cheerfully.  “It’s pee.  I can see it running down her leg.  That’s okay, they’re all peeing in the pool anyway.”

Now assiduously avoiding eye contact with the stranger who is overhearing this exchange, I back slowly towards the showers.  “Maybe we’ll just rinse off again before her lesson starts.”

And then we all get into the pee pool, excuse me, toddler pool, put our faces in it, and learn to blow bubbles.

Parenting is gross.

The end.


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