You'll Have to Hold It

My toddler stoops over, holding

the front of his pants, thrashing

like he’s entered a modern dance competition

in the grocery store checkout line.

 

I have to go to the potty, Mommy!

he screams at fire-alarm volume

as I place my first shopping cart

item on the conveyor belt.

 

I think back to three potty trips taken

in the last half hour, once each time

the cart neared the restroom, the first

two tries yeilding only handwashing.

 

You’ll have to hold it, I command as he writhes

in semblant pain, still adept enough to grab

with precision his favorite candy and Hot Wheels

toys from the stacks near the register.

 

I ignore the glares of childless shoppers

and the smiles of elderly

women who likely raised

four children of their own.

 

How difficult, I think, the task

of growing up must seem

to a three-year-old more interested

in Duplo blocks, iPads, and singing robots.

 

His cry echoes through the store,

frustration brimming from his quivering

chin and spreading to the toes of his velcro shoes

where it transfers to my unsuspecting shin.