All week long, my kids have been looking forward to a picnic in the park today.
It rained.
All week long, my kids have been looking forward to a trip to Cedar Point tomorrow.
They are predicting thunderstorms.
Feeling bad about their disappointment, we decided to salvage the weekend with some ice cream sundaes and cheap toys. So we loaded the kids in the car and headed to WalMart for the necessary supplies. We got to the store and I popped the baby into my sling while Sean put the other boys in one of those multiple child carts.
As we walked towards the toy section, I started feeling something wet. At first I thought I was imagining it, but then the awful reality of the situation began to sink in. E~ had had a blow out. On me. And I didn’t even have a diaper (we were just picking up ice cream!).
Fortunately, I was standing next to a clearance rack of baby clothes. I quickly found something his size. As I walked towards the baby section for diapers and wipes, I also managed to grab a shirt my size. I paid for everything, then headed for the bathroom.
Changing the baby wasn’t an issue. Sure, it’s embarrassing having to do it while also covered in poop, but, hey, I probably won’t see any of those people ever again. Dealing with myself, though, was a bit more tricky. Someone else was already in the big stall, so E~ and I headed for a little one.
Have you ever tried to take off your shirt while holding a twenty pound child? Not exactly convenient. As much as it disgusted me, I soon realize that the safest option would be to set him on the floor. Of the public restroom. I tried to at least set him on the bag that his dirty clothes were in, then tried to change as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, right around the time I got my shirt off, he lost his balance and face planted on the floor. Of the public restroom. Painful and disgusting in the same moment. He started to scream. My only option was to stand there in my state of undress and try to comfort him.
In a public restroom.
Even behind the door of a stall, it was extremely awkward.
I did eventually manage to calm E~ back down, steady him between my legs while he was again sitting on the floor of the public restroom (I’m really trying not to think about that too much), and once again dress myself. We finished the ice cream shopping with a bag full of pooped on clothes and a baby with a red mark down the side of his face. He fell asleep on the way home.
I woke him up and gave him a bath.
When I went for my massage yesterday, the massage therapist asked me what my anxiety level was if “one” was sipping margaritas on the beach with Jimmy Buffet and “ten” was running down the street screaming.
I guess I should ask her what number “wishing I could curl up in the fetal position” would be.
Mixed Nuts 