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Bathroom at the Point
by Kara Carlson

The five kids I babysat, their mom, and I went to Bastion Point in Auckland for the last dinner I would have with them. We had McDonald's and carrot cake. When the mom had asked me the day before what cake I would like, I said chocolate. She bought carrot cake because the nine-year-old was on a diet.

The five-year-old wandered in the street, the baby shoved french fries in his mouth, the nine and seven-year-olds futilely attempted to get their kite out of the tree, and I watched the three-year-old's facial expressions as he played with himself. After two minutes, I needed to pee.

"Hey baby, do you need to go to the toilet?" I asked.

"I not a baby, I a big boy. I have a baby," the three-year-old responded.

I wasn't about to destroy his delusions about having a child two years younger than himself, so I agreed with him, swung him onto my shoulders and carried him to the bathroom.

When I removed his hands from torturing my hair and set him down in the bathroom, he informed me, "I have to do big poos."

I covered the toilet seat with toilet paper and set the kid on it. Four minutes later he was still discussing the size of his impending excrement, I was still standing in his stall, and I still had to pee. My bladder pain began afflicting my brain.

"Are you almost done?" I asked.

He grunted and repeated, "I have to do big poos."

I went into the next stall to pee. As I was sitting down, the three-year-old informed me, "You have to do poos."

"I don't have to do poos! I just have to pee," I replied.

"You have to do poos because I'm doing poos."

"Logical. But I think I might just pee."

"Kara, do you love me?"

"Of course I love you, but that doesn't mean I can force myself to do poos."

"Sometimes you have to squeeze it out. I'm squeezing it out now. I have a little bum. Not a lot of poos come out at one time."