Then this afternoon, we went to my mom's parents' to celebrate both of their birthdays. I won't tell you how old they turned, but I will tell you that I hope I age as gracefully and with as much spunk as they have. They are a joy to be around, and all of my mom's branch of the family (save my sister who was away at college) got to celebrate and hang out for the afternoon at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Hurray!
Finally, on the way home, we stopped off at a little Mexican restaurant for supper. Conversation was good, the kids were great, the food was delicious. Mmmm. A great end to a great day... almost.
Connor had annihilated the rice and beef that I'd shared with him. Annihilated it in such a way that it was all over the floor. As we finished up, I bent over to try to mitigate the mess, and then it hit me: the stench. Sniff, sniff It could only be one thing.
I picked Connor up, grabbed the diaper bag and excused the two of us to visit the changing table in the restroom. There was a mom and two little girls ahead of us waiting for the single restroom. You know the kind - it's a little 6x6 room that has the sign outside that designates it both a boys and girls restroom.
The door opened, the occupant left, and the waiting mom went in. Connor looked over at me and gave me a monstrous Mexican-food caked grin. I made a mental note to wipe his face down while changing him.
We waited. And waited. And waited. And we all knew what that other mom was doing. Clearly it wasn't going to be ideal to go in after her. But we were dealing with poop too, so NBD. As we waited, a lady got in line behind us. Connor started shooting his most winning grins her way and eventually got bored of his upright perch in my arm. He dive-bombed forward and I caught across his chest with my other arm. I pretended to make him fly. He was loving it! But then his shirt came up a bit.
What was that? Oh no. No, no. Blowout. Darn. At least the onsie caught it and it hasn't seeped through onto his jeans or over-shirt. Don't lay him down on his back. Sit him up and get his clothes off so it doesn't squish out more.
The mom FINALLY comes out of the bathroom. Her daughter goes in. The lady behind me leaves - too long of a wait. I balance my son more carefully. I don't want to inadvertently add to the mess I'll have to deal with. Handle with care!
The daughter comes out, but just then a little boy comes prancing around the corner with his dad. He clearly really REALLY has to go. I graciously inform the dad that I'll be dealing with a blowout - his son should go first. Son goes in. Son eventually comes out.
By this time, I know that my family has finished whatever was left of their food, paid the bill, and is likely waiting at the door. Fortunately, I'm an experienced mother. A veteran. I got this. NBD.
We walk into the little 6x6 room and lock the door. I see the changing table doesn't have those little paper covers, but there is a roll of that brown paper you dry your hands with. I quickly unroll 2 lengths and lay them on the changing table.
I sit Connor down and reach for a diaper and wipes. Connor reaches up and knocks the Glade automatic sprayer off of the little shelf next to the changing table. Who put that there anyway? Oh well, I'll pick it up and put it back when I'm done.
I take off his shirt and pants. His onesie isn't just... well... dirty. It's bulging. In the back. Like a muffin top. Oh crap. (Literally) Call for reinforcements! I reach into my back pocket for my phone to text my mom. Empty. Other pocket! Empty!!!! Sigh. Buck up! Time to show 'em what you've got! You've done this before!!! You got this. I unsnap the buttons on the bottom of the onesie and lift it up his back just enough to assess the situation. The muffin top is poop. All of it. The diaper is no help here.
I look behind me and notice that the toilet and the toilet paper are both within reach. I grab some toilet paper and lift the onesie again. Swipe. Sploosh. The first offensive went well. I go for it again. Swipe. Sploosh. I hope that doesn't clog the toilet.
I reassess. I roll his onesie down from his shoulders and off of his body. There is still a LOT of poop in it! Oh well. Where do I set it? On top of his other clothes on the shelf below the changing table I guess. I've broken through the front line! Hurray! I grab wipes and clean up his back. Then I stand him up to undo his diaper.
The diaper comes off and I go for a wipe. The room goes completely pitch black. What just happened? Why....? "Connor, leave the light switch alone!" Why did they have to put the changing table so close to the light switch? My son is standing on the changing table leaned over one arm as I use the other arm to contend with a diaper that gave up long ago.
I manage to flick the switch back on. I see the trash can. It's within reach if I stretch and can get the lid open. Success! The diaper is gone!
Then I survey the wreckage. I have a poop covered son, held up by my poop covered hand, standing on a poop covered table. Oh, and he's dive-bombing for a pile of poop on the pathetic effort at a changing table cover I put down moments ago in hopes that they'd be helpful. Now those to strips of brown hand-drying paper are just another thing on which we have caked poop!
I divert Connor's attention from the pile of poop, quickly get rid of the brown paper (all while balancing my teetering son on the changing table) and reach for wipes to get my hand clean. Pitch black.
"Connor. Don't mess with the light switch!"
I flick it back on. Things just got serious. Giggle! But this is hilarious! But I have to hurry this up. My family will think both Connor and I are buried in a pile of poop... Which we are, but we won't be for long!
I'm like a ninja. I whip wipes around and clean like all forms of poopy darkness are closing in on me, but refuse to let them win! Pitch black.
"Connor, seriously, quit with the lightswitch."
I finally get the boy clean (mostly), pull out a diaper and jammies and then lift Connor enough to put the jammies down on the changing table. I stop short. Sigh. The changing table looks like... well... like a major blowout battle was fought and the blowout won. I look at my naked son, look down at my jacket (already needing a wash thanks to supper getting all over the sleeve). I shrug and settle Connor on my hip, reminding myself that the jacket has to be washed anyway. I try not to think about the poop I didn't *quite* get off of his buns.
With one hand, I start wiping down the changing table. Connor discovers (again) the little shelf next to the changing table that once held the Glade room spray. With one hand, Connor nearly knocks the shelf down onto us. Awesome. Scoot away from that wall, but don't scoot so far that you can't continue to cleaning the changing table.
I finally decide it's clean enough to lay down the jammies, the diaper, and the boy. Boy into diaper into jammies. Hurray!!!!
I pick him up and go to grab the bag. That's when I notice the onesie - my nemisis - still awaiting a safe place to travel home.
I have these fantastic little bags that I keep in my diaper bag for just such an occasion. They're slightly scented like baby powder, and they really do hold in the smell and the mess very well. Unfortunately, I'm down to my last bag on the roll. You know how difficult it is to get the last bag of a trash bag roll unrolled? Yep.
I'm squatting next to the diaper bag, my son balanced on one arm (because public bathroom floors are gross, and that changing table, despite my best efforts isn't much better), trying desperately to unroll this stupid bag with my free hand when I hear my mom's voice, "Steph? Are you ok?"
"Yeah! I'll be out in a sec!" I've been in here forever! I bet there are 10 people lined up out there. I wonder if staying in here until the place closes is an option? No. No, I can't. My family is waiting. Walk out proud and no one will suspect the battle!
FINALLY the bag is freed and opened. I stuff dirty clothes in the scented bag, stuff the bag in the diaper bag, and hold my head high.
That place has never seen a mom walk through with such assurance and confidence. Or at least that place has never seen a mom fake it so well.
Post Script - I did remember to put the Glade automatic room sprayer back on the little shelf. Any who have used that room since us should be eternally grateful for that.
Post Post Script - It's a good thing he's so stinking adorable...
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