Let me first start out with a disclaimer: this is a mom-post. Which means it revolves around kids. Which means there is poo involved. Proceed with caution…
So my oldest is in kindergarten and as such, we have entered into birthday party’s, friendships and various other social events that are leaving me running around trying to make sure I’m heading in the right direction. They’re also leaving me broke. But that’s for another day.
The current party is happening this weekend and the only time I had available to pick up the gift we’d chosen for this friend (which BTW should earn me friend-mom of the year because I pretty much nailed it! I should be so good at picking gifts for my own kids!) was this morning. So while my oldest was off to school, I packed up the younger two and headed out to do his dirty work for him. I feel like this is somehow going to mentally prepare me for when I’m up at 3am finishing his homework for him…
Now, to put part of this adventure into some perspective, I should remind you that I’m not the most adventurous person. During the week, I prefer to stick close to home, not always be on the go. In fact, more recently, it’s been extremely hard for me to muster up the desire to leave the house for any reason other than errands, work or an appointment. So already, this outing is doomed to fail.
I’ve pretty much got us covered. Water, snacks, bathroom breaks before we leave, music, sunglasses. We’re set. The drive over only yields a few moments of wishing my 4 year old would stop talking so I could sing off-key to my heart’s content instead of trying to answer questions I don’t even understand. I’m feeling pretty good. Everyone’s happy and things are going great.
We get to Chapters and things just keep getting better. We find our item of interest as well as an entirely empty kids area. I even get a bit “crazy” and let my girl loose from the stroller to play at the train table with her brother. I know…rebel (in my defense, my hubby caught her on the table eating a plant not too long ago so…). They’re having a great time, they’re playing nicely, they’re listening!!! I mean I’m about ready to tag myself as mother of the century here and quickly wondering why I don’t take my kids in public every freaking day! They’re like the angelic mini versions of their mother after all. I even get the courage to step away from them to browse a few shelves while still being able to see them from afar.
Then it happened.
The smell hit me first. The realization of what had transpired in the blink of an eye came a split second later.
We had a diaper emergency.
Code red, sirens, all hands on deck. This was clearly going to be a bad one.
It’s about this moment that I realize that in all my veteran mom splendor, I’d neglected to pack a diaper bag or a change of clothes.
It was abundantly clear that one, if not both, items would be needed stat.
I thought quickly and regained my composure while holding my breath and wondering how something so foul could possibly exist something so small and innocent. I fear some innocence was lost today. But it was no time to panic. We made our way to the bathroom that was (thankfully) empty and after a brief assessment of the contour of my daughter’s posterior, determined that I could just chuck the turd in the toilet, put the diaper back on in a quasi clean state and get home. I was feeling good again. I’d panicked for a second but McGyver mom came through and we were back in business.
As I’m preparing to do the deed and figuring out how I’m going to chuck the bomb and get the diaper back on without anything hitting the floor, a new reality set in. Without going into detail, I will simply use the following term and let you draw your own conclusions:
In short, plan A was not happening because plan A was oozing out of every possible part of the diaper imaginable.
So plan B took over: get the heck home as fast as possible and pray that everything stays somewhat contained within the pants/shirt area.
I sheepishly paid for our one item, praying my strongest prayers that the clerk had a weak sense of smell and if she didn’t, that it was clear that I was responsible for the lack of preparedness and not the actual paint-peeling odor currently overtaking the very air we were breathing.
Home we went. Thankfully, my girl wasn’t the least bit bothered by what she was sitting in. And why would she be? She just crapped out half her body weight. I’d feel relieved and want to catch a nap too.
We finally got ourselves in the door and after emptying a container of baby wipes, throwing everything in the washer and purging my nostrils of the memory of what looked to be last week’s chili dinner finally working its way out, I pray that this kid really likes his dang birthday gift.
Moral of the story? Don’t be an idiot…bring a dang diaper!