Warning: If you're not a parent, or haven't otherwise raised a toddler, don't read any farther. This post contains graphic potty-training scenes.

I mean it.

Okay, you're on board? Here we go. The scene opens in a hip, urban coffee shop. The lights are low. A DJ spins ambient and house tunes as the cool (read: non-parental) clientele hang out before hitting the club and bar scene.

Baby A and I are hunkered down at a corner table, enjoying a rare late-night (read: 8 P.M.) date, munching on biscotti and drinking milk. Suddenly, above the blissed-out music and hushed conversations, A. shouts, in that ear-shattering squeak only little girls can muster,

"Mommy, I have to POOP! Right now! I'm going to go poop! Here I go!"

All eyes turn to our table as A. hops down and sets off running for the restroom. I, of course, follow behind her just as fast as I can, relatively unfazed because, you know, this is just how life is now. It takes a lot to faze me, child-scatological-wise. And, in the big picture, this only makes the bedtime routine easier.

So while I'm squatting in front of her, helping her balance while she sits on the potty, I distract myself by thinking of things I'm grateful for in restaurant bathrooms, now that this is, you know, part of my job.

Cleanliness. Enough said. Little kids wait until the last, harrowing moments before notifying you they need a potty. There's generally not much time to locate and use seat covers. Please, restaurant industry, if you're not keeping your bathrooms sanitary for us adults, do it for kids—and those of us helping the kids.

Gimme room, lotsa room. Until kids are old enough to sit without falling in, we parents must practice a particular type of yoga aimed at keeping the child perched in place without offending the child's No, Mommy, I do it myself sensibilities. It is a delicate balancing act, and we need space in which to perform it, even if it means providing one less toilet. (I know, there are buidling codes and stuff. I'm just sayin'.)

Keep it stocked. It's a huge bummer for an adult with any sense of hygiene to find an empty soap dispenser or paper towel box. It's awfulawfulawful when you can't wash your child's hands after the potty. You have no idea the things they touch.

A stepstool at the sink. Have I not gone on about this enough already?

Thankfully, A. declared herself finished at that point, and shortly thereafter we rejoined the world of the cool with nary a red face. (Amazing how parenting changes you.)

What can you add to my list of restaurant restroom must-haves? Comment and let me know.