This trip
will forever be burned into my memory. Chris and I felt like we had finally
arrived as parents. We were going to a nearby amusement park (which I shall not name so that this story hopefully doesn't wind up connected to that park) with no stroller, no diaper
bag, no sippy cups, no baby. FREEDOM! The kids were 3, 6, and 8 years old. Not
having to take a stroller was a HUGE milestone! We packed a few water bottles
into a backpack and walked in, all holding hands. It was glorious.
After the
first few rides, Eli came running up to me and said that he had to go to the
bathroom. No problem - until we went to one bathroom and it was closed for
cleaning, so we had to run to another bathroom farther away. To put it plainly
- he didn't make it. It was a bad situation involving some very poopy gitch.
Frustrating and gross, but not unmanageable. I have been a mom for 8 years, I'm
not about to let a little poop ruin our day.
So I did
what any good mom would do; I took those gitchies off, threw them in the
garbage, cleaned up my boy and taught him a new vocabulary word: commando. I've
got this.
I marched
out of the bathroom with my boy and Chris looked at me with a question mark and
I said, "No big deal. We are good to go." So we continue about our
glorious day. We take a break from doing rides for lunch. Chris and I are
enjoying a lemonade while the kids are playing in the big play structure when
suddenly, Eli appears and says, "Poop pants."
Umm...
pardon?
"Eli,
do you mean you have to go to the bathroom?" Please, please let the answer
be yes.
"Nope.
Poop in pants."
... Aw,
crap. Literally. Except he's not wearing pants. He's wearing shorts. Commando.
And this is obviously some kind of stomach bug because this is no ordinary
poop. So, athletic shorts, no gitch, and runny poop. As I'm connecting the dots
on what is about to happen, I pick him up and put him on my arm. Annnnnd there
it is. Now, not only in his shorts, but
also on my arm. I am horrified and because we were cocky, we have no diaper bag
or stroller. I tell Chris I'm going to trek back to the van. I know there are
some wipes somewhere in there and I had a pair of sweats in there from when he
was potty training (a year ago, so those were going to be short, tight, and hot
in August but it would be better than any of the alternatives!)
As I'm speed walking
through the park and then the parking lot, I'm looking like a crazy, kidnapper
wannabe. I'm literally running from an amusement park with a child who has a stunned
look on his face. I'm randomly asking any female with a stroller or large bag
if they have a diaper that might fit my son. He’s been potty trained for over a
year, but obviously, we have a situation of some sort going on. One lady kindly
offers me a size 3 diaper. Eli would be at least a 6, but I take it, again
thinking anything will help!
So I finally make the
endless journey across the muddy, packed parking lot. Of course, as luck would
have it, we are in the far overflow parking because we had the audacity to show
up 15 minutes after the park opened. I set Eli down and start rummaging through
the van looking for, praying for, desperately searching for wipes that I
*thought* were in there when Eli pats my leg and in the cutest little voice
says, “Mommy? More poop? More poop, now!”
Are. You. Kidding.
Me?
What are my options
at this point? First of all, I think, whip down those pants and poop in the
parking lot beside the van. But, knowing me and my children, someone would have
wound up stepping in that and making an even bigger mess. So that’s out. Instead,
I spy the KFC popcorn chicken bucket from lunch and my plan all comes together.
That’s right; I
actually caught my son’s poop in a KFC bucket in an amusement park parking lot.
This is motherhood. Poop
in a KFC bucket.
You’ll all be happy
to know that I did eventually find the elusive wipes, a few bottles of water
and a pair of shorts, and got him all cleaned up and ready to return. I
squeezed his booty into that much too small diaper just in case, for peace of
mind, but that was the last incident of the day.
Now I know you are
all wondering about that KFC bucket. To get rid of the incriminating evidence,
I slowly and carefully slid the bucket into the paper bag, rolled up the top,
and deposited that into the park garbage can on a hot August day.
BOOM. Motherhood.
