OH! THE EMBARRASSMENT!

The single most embarrassing moment of my life occurred on Monday the 26^th August, 1969 at approximately 2.30 in the afternoon and involved my, at the time, only son; a delightful child 2 years and four months of age.

Day and Grimes, the Harvey Norman of Nambour in Queensland, was having a sale of nursery furniture, and Sean and I went down to buy a gift for him to present to his new brother or sister (9 days overdue).

Sean made his choice of a cot-mobile and then he decided he had to answer a call of nature. Well into the process of potty training, he considered his request of utmost importance but I underestimated the urgency – don’t most mothers? He stood quietly beside me for a moment tugging on my hand and saying “Mummy, potty!” and my reply was “just let me pay for this and then we’ll go find a toilet.” Quite reasonable, I thought. Unfortunately the clerk was a little slow with the paperwork and wanted to chat as his wife was about to present him with their first child, due in another month.

Sean tugged again, a little more insistently and told me “Mummy, poo!” so I asked him to wait just one second while the clerk wrapped the parcel and we would go. “Okay, Mummy” was the reply.

The clerk took his time about the wrapping. No plastic bags back then – all purchases were wrapped in brown paper. As he handed it to me, his face changed dramatically from the serious clerk to the hilariously-giggling-but-trying-not-to young man. To his credit he did not laugh out loud, but only because he had half his fist shoved into his mouth to stop it.

Sean chose that moment to tell me again “Mummy, poo!” and I turned to take his hand and leave the shop but found myself confronted with a pair of shorts, a bare-bottomed very serious, little boy – and a potty almost filled with his efforts.

Poo!

My delightfully resourceful little angel had helped himself to one from the nursery display. What could I do other than tell him what a good boy he was, put his shorts back on, and make as graceful a waddling exit from the store as I could, find the public toilet and empty my new purchase.

All the way up the street, Sean hopped and jumped along beside me telling me “I a good boy, Mummy. I did poo in the potty, did I, Mummy. I a good boy.” All I could do was agree with him, keep my eyes straight ahead and pray that I didn’t meet anyone who knew me and wanted to talk. There were quite a few strange looks and stifled giggles from people who glanced quickly at and away from what I was carrying.

Prayers answered, I disposed of the evidence, took my son home where he informed his grandparents of his activities. They were, of course, suitably impressed with his ingenuity and told him so – I don’t think they ever did stop laughing.

That, as previously stated was Monday. On Thursday the Nambour Chronicle was published and there in it’s STORY OF THE WEEK section was the tale as told by that rotten little sales clerk – grossly exaggerated of course! His description, the very pregnant customer and her hippity-hopping little boy named Sean, meant that people who knew me identified the subject of his story it spread like wildfire through the district. I was an Avon representative and my customers all read the Chronicle! I hoped at the time he got severe indigestion from the dinner for two that he got for having his story selected!

Why do I remember the date so well? That night I went into the Nambour Hospital and Sean’s brother, Seamus arrived at 4.45 on Tuesday Morning the 27^th August, 1969 – 10 days overdue.