I'm pretty sure there will be two types of reactions to this post. The reaction from people who do have children - who will chuckle, perhaps reminisce about their own worst experience, maybe even chime in with encouragement - and the reaction from those who don't have children - I fully expect them to call DSS on my ass. Doesn't matter...I'm posting it any way.
Yesterday was Wednesday and as you know, Little G and I go to the Children's Museum on Wednesdays. It had been a challenging day - but nothing that threw me for a loop. Basically I had tried to get us to the museum by bus from which we would then transfer to the subway. The problem was that if I take the bus than I use the umbrella stroller, but the umbrella stroller only was able to get me halfway to the bus stop before I had to turn back because the sidewalks were too icy/slushy for 30 pounds of baby on thick, slippery plastic wheels to traverse without getting hopelessly stuck in the sludge. So I headed back to the house, dumped the baby and the stroller in the car and drove to the commuter rail station (one of the great benefits of living where we live is the plethora of options for getting into downtown Boston).
We finally made it to the Children's Museum and had a wonderful time. Little G discovered the bubble room that I have been strategically avoiding and just when I thought we would NEVER. LEAVE. THE. BUBBLES. he decided he had had enough. Although, it may have been because I enticed him with a ride on the elevator. Anyway, we got on the elevator and I realized that awesome-mother-that-I-am, I hadn't changed his diaper since he got up in the morning and it was now 11:15am.
So we headed to the women's room and I laid him down on the changing table and took off his shoes (usually I don't do that but I thought he had pooped - he hadn't - and I'm not talented enough to change a poopy diaper without taking off his pants which meant his shoes had to come off too), his pants and his diaper. I tossed the very wet liner into the trash and reached into the diaper bag to get the new diaper. Except, there wasn't one.
Yup...it took me 18 months to do it, but I left the house without a diaper. And now I was in a bathroom with a half naked, squirming toddler and no diaper. Thankfully, there was another mommy in the bathroom who had just come out of the stall carrying a boy who looked younger, and was definitely smaller, than little G so I peeked around the corner and meekly asked if she had a diaper we could use.
Hmmmm...perhaps she didn't hear me. She was holding her son up to wash his hands.
They finished up while Little G was busy tossing his pants and his shoes on the floor and desperately trying to get off the changing table, so I asked again. This time I made eye contact as I meekly said, "I'm sorry, do you have an extra diaper on you?"
The woman looked at me and my half naked son and said, "WE use the potty."
I must have looked like I was totally in shock at that statement and she continued and said, "he's been potty trained since he was 15 months".
In defense of my son, I stammered back, "Well, he's only 18 months old...", realizing halfway through the statement that 18 months old is actually OLDER than 15 months.
The woman bustled her son out the door apologetically saying, "I know, we're just lucky."
And then she was gone.
And I was still standing there with my son half naked without a diaper and no prospects of anyone else coming into the bathroom anytime soon to save me.
So I did what any mother of an 18 month old boy would do (as opposed to the mother of a 6 month old who may have curled in a corner and cried)...I reached into the trash a-la-George-Costanza-in-Seinfeld style, grabbed the insert I had just thrown out, turned it around so the wet part was on Little G's bum and the dry part near his little boy parts, yanked his pants on him, tossed his shoes in my diaper bag, got us in our coats and hats and headed back to the train station, back to the car and finally, an hour later, back to our house where I was able to change him into an actual, DRY, non-used-and-plucked-from-the-trash diaper.
Yup. Mother. of. the. Year.
So...mothers who may or may not still read my blog after reading this lovely story...what's the worst one ya' got?!