Number Two

outhouse-moon

Ok, so I’m gonna go “there”.  Because I have put it off long enough.  No honest Mom blog can go for long without this topic coming up.  What made me really want to write about this is that no matter how old my kids are getting, the topic of “the poop” never seems to go away…

The other day, for example, I took the twins for a bike ride/dog walk in the forest.  I was having another one of those self-elevating moments, where I was thinking:

“Hey, you, awesome Mom.  Look at you, a well-behaved dog (so shiny and cute), two clean-faced (ahem, sort of) kids getting exercise…everyone moving peacefully through a beautiful morning. You have got IT together sister!”

My self adoration was interrupted by a nice lady and her little Jack Russell, so I stopped to have a chat about the weather. Rule #1, when things are going well on a dog walk/bike ride with two 5-year-olds and a puppy…DON’T STOP!!

So anyway, we were chatting, and because I LOVE to talk, we really got into a fascinating conversation about the new animal control company that just came to town.  We were deep in a conversation about the pros & cons of off-leash areas, when Twin A pulls on my sleeve, and is mumbling something about his brother going to the bathroom.  Thinking that he has snuck off behind a tree to pee, I slough his bro off and continue to chat with the nice (very proper) elderly lady.  This happens about two more times, which, because I am an AWESOME parent, I ignore.  Finally Twin A gives up, and goes to build a house with moss beside the path.

It is about this time that I realize that Twin B has been gone from eye-shot for a little too long, so I call out for him.  He is under the little foot bridge that we are standing on, and when I call out to him, he replies in a full scream:

“MOM, I AM UNDER THE BRIDGE, I POOPED, BRING ME TOILET PAPER!!!”

So, hoping that the nice old lady is also hard of hearing, I casually say that perhaps I should go see what my “little sweetie” is doing under the bridge and tell her to have a nice day.  She leaves quickly.

I find Twin B in the full “nature squat”  and as I am questioning his judgement, I reach into my pocket for a tissue, only to realize there are none.  It was at this moment that I think to myself:

Are we seriously here, in this place again?  I POO-TASTROPHY after all these years?

Yup, you see, just when you think it’s safe to leave the wipes and spare pants at home, you realize you’re not getting off that easy.

A couple leaves and a splash of stream water and we were on our way (sort of).  But it got me thinking about the amount of POO-TASTROPHIES I have dealt with in almost eight years of parenting.  Church, parties, weddings…you name it, it’s happened.

I remember the first really bad one.

We were at a house party.  The hosts were good family friends, but other than them, we knew no one.  My oldest was about 3 or 4 months old. For people without babies, the theory is that little baby = little poop.  Us parents, we know better.  Anyhow, I decided that since the hosts had no change-table in their home (yes, gasp, baby-free zone), I would change his diaper on the floor in the master bedroom, it was hardwood.

No chance of an accident.

As I “started in” on the process, I realized we had a classic blowout, you know the ones that go all the way up to their neck?  So I had to get the onesie off, which resulted in a poonami (def.: catastrophic wave of poo).  There was poo on his hair, poo on his back, then suddenly there was poo on the floor, the change pad, my hands, my arm, the front of my pants…

If I had been at home, it would have been bath time for everyone.  But I was at a party.  Covered in poo.  There are only so many wipes in a container.  I needed my back-up stack. The diaper bag was on the bed, so, grabbing the strap with the one finger of mine that didn’t have you-know-what on it, I tried to gingerly swing the bag down to the floor.  It swung down all right, right on top of the pile of poopy everything.

Add poop-covered diaper bag to list.

Eventually I got it under control, like all of us rock-star parents do.  It took all the wipes I had in my bag, plus an entire roll of my friends’ toilet paper from their en-suite.  My son was changed into a super cute, super clean onesie. I wiped the poop off the front of my pants. I packed up the diaper bag, and decided I better go wash my hands and “freshen up”  (meaning spray yourself with anything you can find in your friends’ bathroom that smells like flowers even if it is toilet spray) before I went back out to the party.

So I put my clean little bundle of joy down in the middle of my friends’ king size bed…

Yep. You know where this is going if you have babies.

This is the day I learned that just because there was one #2, doesn’t mean there isn’t going to be two #2’s…

The rest of that party was spent stripping my friends’ bed, sneaking past strangers to the laundry room, and saying sorry about a million times, only to get into the car to realize that I had been leaking milk for who knows how long…

(Thank-you husband for noticing that one…)

I learned so much that day.

Like, you can never pack too many wipes and other absorbent materials in a diaper bag.

And, never put your baby on someone else’s bed (or anything) without something waterproof  (Poonami-proof) underneath them.

And, check your leaky parts and your baby’s leaky parts often, so as to avoid social-leper status.

That was the first of hundreds of Poonamis.

So, I say, to both new and “seasoned” parents, always carry a wad of kleenex in your pocket, a change of clothes in your van, and keep the wine chilled, because it’s a long and winding road to the potty!

Want more baby-sized potty humour?  Check out www.sillysouls.com

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