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I thought I was prepared for the chaos of parenting. Baby-proofed the house, read all the books, even practiced changing diapers on a stuffed animal. But nothing—NOTHING—prepared me for the psychological warfare that is taking a 4-year-old to the grocery store.

Last Tuesday started innocently enough. I needed to grab a few things for dinner, and my daughter Emma was being surprisingly cooperative. No tantrums about the cart, no begging for candy, just a pleasant little shopping trip with my angelic child.

Then we reached the checkout line.

The store was packed. Every register open, lines six people deep. We got in line behind a very put-together woman in business attire who was buying an impressive amount of healthy food. You know the type—perfect hair, designer handbag, probably has her life together enough to meal prep for the entire week.

Emma studied this woman intently, then looked up at me with big innocent eyes and announced—in that special volume only children can achieve, somewhere between "fire alarm" and "stadium announcement"—"Mommy, is that lady buying all that food because she poops A LOT?"

The entire checkout area went silent. The woman froze, hand suspended mid-air reaching for her organic kale. The teenage cashier started making a choking sound trying not to laugh.

Before I could respond, Emma continued her public TED Talk on stranger's bathroom habits: "Because YOU said people who eat lots of vegetables poop better and she has SOOO many vegetables!"

I wanted to disappear. The woman turned around slowly, face unreadable. I started stammering apologies, but she just burst out laughing.

"She's not wrong," the woman said. "I've been doing a cleanse. It's... effective."

I thought the worst was over. I was wrong.

Emma, now encouraged by the positive response to her poop observations, decided to share more family bathroom intel with our new friend and the entire checkout area.

"My daddy sits on the potty SO LONG that Mommy says he's hiding from us! And sometimes Mommy's poops smell so bad that Daddy makes THIS face!" She proceeded to demonstrate my husband's apparent "bad smell face," which involved crossed eyes and puffed cheeks.

By now, the cashier was openly crying with laughter. The businessman behind us was recording this with his phone. The woman with the vegetables was doubled over her cart.

I tried changing the subject. "Emma, should we get ice cream on the way home?"

Wrong move.

"YES! But not chocolate because it gives me diarrhea! Remember when I had diarrhea at Target and it went EVERYWHERE and you had to use all the wipes and that lady gagged?"

I abandoned our groceries, scooped up my tiny bathroom reporter, and practically ran for the exit. As we left, I heard the vegetable woman call out, "Don't worry! My 5-year-old told his teacher I wear granny panties because 'pretty underwear gives mommy infections!'"