You’re beginning to understand why it’s so hard, but it’s difficult to put into normal sounding words that your brain is screaming at you that you can’t pee here, that you can’t pee while clothed, that your bum is supposed to be parked over the loo first.
“Hmm,” mama hums thoughtfully.
Then she smiles slightly cheekily.
“Maybe you need a good tickle?”
You blink dumbly at mama for a moment before what she just said clicks. But before you can get away (and you’re not really sure how to get away), mama leaves here poles stuck in the snow and puts her hands under your jacket.