Friday, May 18, 2012

Oooh Crappy Day! (Um, Literally)

Perhaps it's because my little boy is losing all his "baby fat" and barely even qualifies as a toddler anymore - he certainly doesn't get in anywhere for free anymore - or perhaps it's because I spent a lot of time working at an OB/GYN office... or because one of my closest friends just had a gorgeous baby girl. Whatever the reason, I've found myself coming down with symptoms of baby fever. As in I'm ready for baby #2. As in the prospect of cuddling a tiny little human with my DNA is starting to outweigh the memories of sleepless nights, smelling like spit up, and days of inconsolable crying (whether I'm referring to the infant's tears or my own tears is not important...).

So of course, The Great Cosmos thought it would be wise - and hilarious - to test me, to be certain I was ready for round two.

Cue to a beautiful sunshiny day. Baby Daddy and I are back in Georgia helping the besties get loaded up for their move to Tennessee. While BD is doing the manly stuff like putting furniture into the giant truck and Best Friend is busy directing the dudes as to where to put stuff, etc. I made myself useful by keeping the little ones busy in the backyard.

So, I've got three-year-old Gavin and almost-two-year-old Landon soaked down with the water hose, which is a lot of fun, mind you. But after a little while we're all just too hot. It's almost lunchtime anyway, so I come up with the brilliant idea to take the boys to Chick Fil A. That way they can eat, be in an air-conditioned building, still play and still be out of the way of the moving chaos.

I've got the food ordered and spread out on the table when I realize it's steaming and definitely too hot for the little guys to eat. No worries. The table I landed is right beside the indoor playground so I take off their shoes and tell them to go have fun while the food cools.

(This might be a good time to interject that I've already gotten a few looks from people in the restaurant. You see, despite the fact that I'm twenty-six, even with makeup on I can usually pass for a teenager - and that day was hot so I wasn't wearing much makeup. Or any jewelry, such as a wedding band. Gavin and Landon both just so happen to have blonde hair and blue eyes like me. The town I was in just so happens to be full of rather judgmental people. Do you see where I'm going with this?)

Okay, so the little dudes have been on the playground all of thirty seconds when I notice a suspicious expression on Gavin's face. I ask him what's wrong and he says something about poop. I sigh and assume Landon must have filled up his diaper, and that sucks because I really don't feel like packing up our food and stuff and dragging two little boys to the restroom.

But Landon's diaper is clean. That's when the smell hits me. That's when I notice that my own son - who has been perfectly potty-trained for months now - has not moved from his spot on the giant plastic steps that lead to the slide. That's when I realize that GAVIN is the one who has pooped. Not in his diaper, because Gavin doesn't use diapers anymore. Also, not in his underwear because... well, because after Mommy soaked him with the water hose earlier, she left his undies out to dry on the back porch and thought he'd be just fine in only a fresh pair of shorts for the next hour or so.

Do you have the image in your mind yet? Let me make it a little more vivid. Think brownish yellow and liquidy and sliding out of a pair of cotton shorts down a fuzzy little leg. I panic for about two seconds before I've got Landon on my hip and I'm dragging Gavin ACROSS THE ENTIRE BUILDING to the restroom (Note to Chick Fil A : Really, your business is already exceptional in comparison to other fast food joints, and I have a particular fondness for your good customer service and the mouthwash dispenser in the restroom. Having said that, perhaps it would make more sense for the restroom to be located closer to the playground. Since, you know, sometimes children have accidents.)

Nobody wants to be of assistance... Because it's gross. Also because an unwed teenager who's been knocked up twice deserves this and needs to learns to figure it all out all by herself since she got herself into this predicament all by herself.

The boys are still barefoot, which makes the image that much more entertaining. In my hurry, I also left the food and drinks, plus my cell phone, keys, and wallet at the table. Thankfully, the other customers may have been judgmental but none of them were thieves.

I felt immediately better once I was behind the closed stall door in the restroom. That was before I realized that the only thing I had to clean up the mess with was cheap toilet paper, and that I was going to have to put those nasty shorts back on Gavin unless I wanted to parade him naked through the building to the car. You see, since Gavin is no longer in diapers, I no longer carry a diaper bag with me. Having diapers and wipes and clean shorts would have been just too damn convenient at this point.

Also, in case you are not aware of this, most little kids don't like the sound of loud toilets flushing. Gavin and Landon are two such kids. Which is why they were both crying the entire time... Gavin wailed as he was bent over in a very awkward position while I desperately dipped large wads of toilet paper into the toilet water and wiped him with it. I couldn't do this too quickly because I was having to repeatedly stop and chase down Landon because he was trying to crawl under the stall door. Can you blame the little guy? The playground was much more pleasant than this obnoxious place I was forcing him to hang out in. (Special thanks to the lady in the stall next door who not only contributed to the delightful smell of the place but also repeated flushed.)

I managed to clean Gavin up decent enough to get out of there, and I paused at the sink just long enough to scrub my hands with scalding hot water. Then I drowned all three of us from elbows down with hand sanitizer. With lightening speed, I rushed back to the table and gathered our things. Not an easy feat - Gavin was so traumatized that he simply couldn't carry even something as small as a juice box. (Actually, he tried but ended up squeezing half of the contents onto my shirt and the rest onto the floor.) All Landon wanted to do, as he demonstrated by pointing and squealing, was get back to the playground.

I did make it to the car in one trip. (Thank god - because I KNOW that had I put the boys into the car and then ran back inside to get our things, somebody would have called Child Protective Services on me.)

Take a deep breath; it's almost over. Of course, by the time I had Landon buckled in and Gavin changed into new clothes (I don't carry a diaper bag, but I do always keep a change of clothes in the car!) and had the food divided up (they're both crying about being hungry at this point) I can't find my keys. Frantically I look across the parking lot, hoping I didn't drop them along the way - or worse, leave them inside.

I go to Landon's side of the backseat and search. Nothing. Driver's seat - nothing. I open the trunk and nope, not there. I've just gotten back to Gavin's side to look when I hear honking. That's right, honking. HONKING.

Despite the fact that there are at least five other parking spots available, some old lady simply must have the parking spot next to mine and ohmygoodness, but my car's side door is open and blocking her! Oh no! What an awful day she must be having. And, even better, there's more honking. Because Old Bat is holding up three other cars who are trying to get to the drive-thru line.

So, I did the only polite thing. I walked - quite slowly - to the other side of the car and did exactly what she wanted. I shut the door. Well, I slammed it. Rather dramatically, I'll admit. Then, with a big smile on my face I used both arms to guide her into the parking spot - you know, like all those silent models do when they're showcasing some product on a game show.

And, in case you're wondering, no, I didn't fling Gavin's dirty shorts onto her windshield. I really wanted to, but I'd already bagged them up and tossed them into the trunk, and I didn't have the energy to get them out again.

Well, Universe won. I don't think I'm ready to be taking care of two kids at once. Unless, of course, we adopt... a four-year-old girl who has been potty-trained without incident for two years and who insists on wearing undies no matter what and who would simply be too grossed out to ever allow her body to get diarrhea.

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