The post office does not have a public restroom.
I know this because this afternoon, after my three year old claimed she had to go potty "now," I pulled into the post office parking lot, unloaded both kids and hauled them inside, only to realize that there is, in fact, no potty.
Daniel Tiger (on PBS) dedicated an entire episode to going potty in other places, so Catherine was genuinely concerned.
The post office doesn't have a potty?
No, apparently, they do not.
Where is the potty?
I don't know, sweetie. Can you hold it?
So, we load back into the car, I change her into a Pull-Up just in case, and we turn into Chick-fil-A. The plan was to potty. That's all.
We unload (again), maneuver our way through the restaurant to the bathroom, disinfect the seat, sit her down, and...
I don't have to go.
Oh, you're going.
(Five minutes later) Okay, get up.
By now, my window between bottles has expired and Wilson is crying, so I ask C what she wants for a snack while I feed him. She wants a kids meal.
We sit down to eat. C picks a seat by the window to the play area. I tell her she can play while I finish feeding Wilson, but then we have to go.
I am wrong.
An hour and a half later, she
emerges is dragged out sweaty and tired. But, before we can go home...
she has to potty.
Proud of herself this time, she requests a "treat." I tell her she can trade in her toy for ice cream. She does, then immediately starts crying because they took her toy. This is only the 324th time we've been here, so I can see where she would be confused.
The nice lady at the counter gives her back the toy anyway. We haul the twenty pound baby (plus carrier), the ice cream, the toy, and the three year old to the car and finally head home.
U.S. Post Office, seriously, you need a public potty.