Traumatized....a story about poop

There comes a point in all our lives when we face situations that change us forever. Whether we are in a car accident, have a baby, or visit another country we can be moved to a point where we are never the same again. Sometimes these experiences are surrounded by joyous or tragic events. For me this experience was surrounded by the walls of a WalMart bathroom. Following are the details of the torture I experienced that changed me forever (remember, I did say this was about poop!):

At the end of my short shopping trip today at WalMart my sweet, adorable son made the request of using the restroom. The WalMart restrooms are avoided by our family like the plague. We don't even look at them, if not for the only reason that their air freshener is scented "construction site port-a-potty". But my recently potty trained son stressed the fact that he had serious business to do with the nearest potty. So we braced ourselves, closed our eyes, and ran to the last stall. My son has some major requests when doing business number two which requires the stripping of his pants, undies, shoes, and socks. So after peeling everything off he took a seat and we waited....and waited. After five minutes of holding my hand over the flush sensor and stressing to him which parts of the potty he is not allowed to put his hands he looked at me and said "Mom....hush it." It was then I realized there was a full grown man inside that boy who requires silence and a lot of time to poop. After choking back a giggle I started to become fully aware of my surroundings. Being that I have closet OCD and that I started to realize this was going to take a long time I became accutely aware of the germ and bacteria exposure situation we were in and started panicing. But that soon became the last of my worries as people started coming in rapidly to use the remaining stalls in the bathroom. One after another they did business with the other pottys. I was forced to subject myself to serious grossness. After three more minutes of gagging and trying to distract myself I did whatever I could to get this kids to poop. He was so stressed over the fact that he had to poop and couldn't that I felt so sorry for him or I would have thrown his clothes back on and raced out of there. First I tried cheering him on, but that was too funny for him to get back to work. So I bribed him with chocolate inhopes that this kid would just hurry. Finally after two dozen other people pooped next to us Hank let out the smallest piece in the history of poops. Then we ran as fast as we could to the nearest check out to get the heck out of there. The cashier was bagging by produce with boxes (a universal no-no) but I didn't care. My eggs were being crushed by a sack of flour but there was no time to complain. I raced home and took the hottest shower I could and soaked Hank from head to toe in hand sanitizer. Even now, writing this, I am gagging. What gives me hope though is that my brain might see this as one of those traumatic experiences it needs to block out. Hopefully it can at least spare me emotional and mental damage. Only time will tell I guess. One thig is for sure I will NEVER be found in a WalMart bathroom again and I just might not go back to the ame store, ever.