The majority of the world’s problems could be solved if moms met for peace talks in the women’s room.
There is a solidarity of moms in the women’s room. Perhaps it’s because no matter the title or roll outside those doors, while inside, we all have the same human stuff to accomplish. Maybe it’s our common fight against fears of empty toilet paper rolls, smeared seats, shaky legs in the squat position, or our kids touching an-y-thing.
Last week I was at the park with my kids and took my 6 year old son with special needs into the women’s room with me. There is some debate about how old is too old to take a boy into the women’s room, but so far moms have only been supportive of us.
Occasionally little girls my son’s age will ask their moms, “Why is HE in here?” but their moms look me in the eye when they answer their daughters, “Its fine, honey, come on, into the stall.” The understanding in their moms’ eyes says, “It’s okay. No way in heck would I send my little boy into the men’s room alone either.” I hope my look back conveys my gratitude.
In the park bathroom, I took my son into the stall with me, and after he was done I sent him out to wash his hands while I took care of myself. Soon enough I heard, “Mom, I need hellllp! The water won’t turn on!” Through the crack in the door frame I saw another mom step in to assist and heard her say to him, “Here, sweetie, push this button.” Thank you, fellow mom.
I remember a time a couple years ago when I was in a restaurant bathroom with one of our babies lying on the changing table as I frantically dug through the diaper bag. What? Crap! (Literally.) How can I possibly carry a diaper bag that weighs 35 pounds and carries 42 items, but has 0 diapers?
As I was contemplating the unfortunate possibilities (Baby goes commando? Paper towel wad? My own underwear and I go commando?), another mom came over to rescue me.
“Would a size 3 work? Here, take one of these.”
Would a size 3 work?! I would wrap it around twice if I had to. It was a miracle in triple absorbent ultra-soft plastic protection. Thank you, thank you supportive new-mom friend.
Several months later, we were at the zoo when I came out of the stall with my daughter to see a mom standing at the changing table swearing profusely while frantically removing every item from her backpack and threatening to kill her husband. “Out of diapers?” I asked her. I felt like Supermom when I had the chance to give her one and pay the favor forward.
Yes, outside that door there may be arguments over working or staying at home, who has the right to yell at kids in restaurants, or which way the votes sway. After all, we are passionate, strong women.
But in the women’s room, for a few minutes, we moms are united in solidarity.