The Airport Bathroom

Despite what you may read on here, we are actually a very nice and relatively well-behaved family. About to go on a mini-break to Norway for a couple of days we were sat at a London airport (which will not be named!) letting our kids run wild in the play area and watching groups of stag-do's in increasingly bizarre get-ups pass by. (one guy was dressed as a full French Maid. It was incredible)

Even though I had just taken them about half an hour before, Kaitie came running up to us dancing with her knees pressed together - she had to pee and she had to pee now. This one was Paul's turn so he picked her up and darted away down the length of the airport in search of a loo as I guarded our assortment of bags, coats, dolls and snacks - a typical airport family.

Five minutes passed and Lochie wandered up wondering where her twin was. 

Ten minutes passed and I began to wonder too.

Fifteen minutes passed and I became a wee bit concerned. Not a big deal, I'm sure there was just a line or something.

Twenty minutes later and I see Paul speed-walking toward us off in the crowd, carrying Kaitie over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and mouthing something urgent to me. 

Bewilderment registered on my face as Paul frantically mouthed something about a Gate and made wild, swirling arm motions for me to pack up and run. What in the world was going on over there? Nobody else was hurrying like he was and we still had a good hour to kill before our plane would be boarding. I mouthed "What?" and he shouted "Gate 51! Go go go!" from across a sea of people. Trusting in my husband I gathered up Lochie and threw on our luggage, coats, bags and started booking it to Gate 51 - Paul caught up and burst out with 'no time to explain! Just get to Gate 51!'

I looked over at Kaitie while we hussled down the wide corridor packed with people - she seemed happy, fine... breathing. Her pants seemed dry, what the hell happened?

I stole a glance at Paul and huffed "What happened? Are you guys okay?!"

"We're fine - everything is fine. We just have to get far away from here, let's just go to the gate."

Alriiiiiight....

We finally made it to Gate 51 and after catching our breath Paul told me what happened.

He took Kaitie, who was near to bursting, to the men's room at the other end of the airport so she could go pee. However, us not having thought this through particularly well he came to find that within the fairly large men's washroom there were only four stalls, all with lines at least three people deep - and a wall of urinals. Kaitie couldn't hold it - she had to go so badly she was almost crying, he said. So he did the unthinkable.

He pulled down her jeans and held her, backwards, over a urinal.

This would have been awkward enough - with the looks he was getting of mixed disgust and admiration while Kaitie held on to him for dear life shouting 'don't touch anything daddy! It's dirty!' yet he held her there while she let loose a torrent of pee, his knees buckling with the strain of his half-bent position holding his three year old daughter above a urinal... until her little legs shot out in front of her, stiff as a board as she strained and grunted with all of her three year old little might.

"Wait, Kaitie, what are you doing?!? You're not pooping are you???"

Oh yes, yes she was. She was straining like a champ and, before he could stop her, she was pooping in an airport urinal. He tried to stop her but it was too late - a little deer poop nugget had already landed in the pristinely white urinal underneath her. Witnessing his dire predicament another man called over and let him take her into a stall so she could finish - but it was already too late for the urinal - there was nothing to be done.

Except to get the hell out of there.

That poor, poor airport bathroom janitor. I can only imagine what he thought must have happened.