I'm sorry, woman in the public restroom.

We are at the grocery store.

Nina: My belly hurts.

Me: Do you have to use the potty?

Nina: No.

Five minutes later.

Nina: I have to go potty right now!

We make a run for it. We can't find it.

Nina: I really have to go right now!

There it is! We dash into the first stall I see, the giant one meant for people in wheelchairs. No problem. What are the chances that a woman in a wheelchair will need to use the restroom in this empty grocery store at this very moment? I dangle Nina over the potty while she does her business. Whew. That was close.

Squeaky squeaky. Squeaky squeaky.

Huh, what's that noise?

I turn and peek under the stall door. 

A woman in a wheelchair. Of course.

I hear a frustrated sigh.

Me: Are you done?

Nina: No, I still have to go pee pee, and more poo poo, and then maybe diarrhea.

Another sigh. The wheels roll toward the smaller stall next to us.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nope, not gonna fit.

Me: Come on Nina, someone is waiting to use this potty.

Nina: No! I have to go diarrhea! I have to go diarrhea!

Me: Let's just move to the other potty.

Nina: No, I want this potty! This potty! This potty! THIS POTTY!

Cue tears.

Squeaky squeaky. Squeaky squeaky.

I hear the bathroom door open and close as the poor woman leaves to go who knows where. The men's room? All the way home? I'm sorry, whoever you are. I hope you at least got a laugh out of my humiliation. Not only does my child insist on narrating all of her bodily functions, but she quickly develops an emotional attachment to whatever public toilet she happens to be hovering over.

I swear I will never use the giant stall again. Unless it's got the changing table. Because they do that, you know. Totally not my fault. And I will probably use the giant stall if my child is about to pee everywhere and it is the only one left. But under no other circumstances will I use it. Except... I will definitely use it if all the other stalls are dripping with urine or clogged up or smell funny. And sometimes all of the other stalls are out of toilet paper. And of course if I have the baby in the stroller I would need to wheel that in with us.

OK, who am I kidding? The same thing will happen to me next week.

Even the checkout guy at the grocery store notices

At the grocery store, Owen is strapped to me in the baby restrainer and Nina is attempting to put groceries on the belt, then trying to climb into the giant racing car cart by herself, then attempting to push the cart over to a bench to give herself a boost. The cart veers into the register and is wobbling up and down as she tries unsuccessfully to swing her legs up and over the side.

Three professional race car drivers are needed to steer this monstrosity.

Me: Nina, please stop trying to get into the cart.

Checkout guy: She is very movey. 

"Movey" isn't a word, but it does accurately describe my child right now.

Nina: Blah blah blah blah... go in the cart... blah blah blah blah.

Checkout guy: Did you ever see "Cheaper by the Dozen?"

Nina: Blah blah blah blah... I can't get in I can't get in I can't get in I can't... blah blah blah blah.

Me: Yes.

Nina: Blah blah... Help! Mommy I can't get in... blah blah blah blah.

Me: Nina, don't get in the cart right now, I need to leave it in the store.

Checkout guy: This is like the same thing, except with two kids instead of 12.

Nina: Blah blah blah... I need to get in! I need to get in! I need to get in!... Blah blah blah blah.

Me: Yeah, the baby is one kid and she is the other 11.

Nina: Blah blah blah blah!

At least that's confirmation of what I've always suspected. Having one Nina is like having a dozen other children.