I don’t know what it is but a trip to the public library never fails to produce some story or anecdote and our most recent visit was no exception.
I had taken P, now 21 months old, to story time at our local branch library. At first he wasn’t really into it, much preferring to wander around and turn doorknobs, climb chairs and generally check out the room.
But finally, after several false starts, he made his way up to the group of other children and sat down — until he spotted the fabric draped over the Story Lady’s table. See, she brings a colorful fabric that she drapes over the table next to her like a floor-length table cloth and she displays a bunch of books on top it.
P immediately approached and then crawled under the cloth. And then poked his head out out. And then went back under and then came out again, grinning like he was the star of a show doing an encore instead of an incredibly cute toddler disrupting story time.
I bounded out of my seat and tried as discreetly as possible to go under the table from behind and coax P out but he was wily and hard to catch. On my hands and knees, I stuck my head out the front to see about 20 pairs of eye staring back at me.
After much under-the-table wrangling to grab a giggly and very wiggly P, I finally managed to get a hold of him and as I tried to hold onto him and stand up at the same time, my postpartum stress-incontinence reared it’s ugly little head and I peed my fricken pants a teeny bit. Crap.
As I stood up with P in my arms and smiled sheepishly at the crowd, I decided that my bucking and squealing toddler and I should go to the bathroom and survey the state of my jeans and let the Story Lady finish up. Fortunately, as it were, my jeans were spared. YESSSSSSS!
We went back in the room as story time was wrapping up so I could collect our stuff and the nice Story Lady told me that in all the years she had been doing this, no child has ever crawled under the fabric before (which I find incredibly hard to believe.) I apologized to the Story Lady, who actually is very sweet & understanding, particularly of toddlers, and we left.
Rest assured that I was sufficiently embarrassed by my son’s shenanigans. Not, however, because I felt like he was misbehaving but rather because of people looking at me the way they did. Not a single smile of understanding in the bunch except from one lone daddy. Thank you, kind sir.
You want to know what I have to say to that?
Lighten UP, people! He’s not even two years old and it’s toddler story time at the library; not dinner with the Queen of England.
I peed my pants for all you people and your perfect spawn. Isn’t that punishment enough? Geez!
(I have no idea what happened to all the comments on this post. They’re just…gone ???)