I had a doctor's appointment today, and I was obliged to take my daughter with me. As I checked in, it became clear that she had soiled her nappy, so I asked where I could change her. They didn't have actual changing facilities, but they (with no reluctance!) offered me a spare examination room. I cleaned her up and put a fresh nappy on, in spite of her wriggles as she tried to get a better look at her surroundings, then took the dirty nappy to the bathroom for disposal.
The job done, I returned to the waiting room, and popped her on the floor next to a big wooden activity cube. She gazed up at me and started making the instantly recognisable grunts of a bowel movement.
Now, did I have the courage to go back up to the desk and apologetically ask if I could use the exam room again, less than five minutes after leaving it? No, no I did not. Instead, I was frozen by the dilemma of balancing a convenient space of time between requests against changing my daughter before she got a rash – not forgetting to factor in the possibility that she might have a third bowel movement in another few minutes.
To my immense relief, I was called through two minutes later, so I was able to change her discreetly in the examination room allotted to me before the doctor came in, and she managed to refrain from pooping again before we got home.
One day, she will be potty trained. Until we reach that point, she's just going to have to cope with a mother who's too self-conscious for her own good.