"I wonder if that Batman taking shots of creamer can smell the poop on my pants?"
Anyone?
Up until yesterday I would have placed that thought in the "it ain't ever gonna happen" column but, then again, up until yesterday I had never had poop on my pants or sat next to a Batman who was trying to pass the time by taking "shots" of creamer.
My story begins with this.... We're working on potty training Rachel.
(insert the standard, "ohhhhhh okay, now I get it" nod from all of you mothers).
Rachel is doing really well with potty training. She's been showing interest in it since she was about 18-months old but we didn't actually start working on anything until a week ago (she just turned 2 1/2 years old). The first day was a disaster, which was to be expected. But, by day two we had both figured out the rules:
Rule Number 1: Never ask if she has to go potty. You just take her when it's time to go.
Rule Number 2: No touching mommy with "pee fingers"
Rule Number 3: Pee in the potty, not in Dora (her pull-ups)
She has woken up every morning with a dry diaper and has also been doing rather well during nap time, and I couldn't be more proud of my little Pooh Bear.
Except that, I'm getting frustrated.
When is this kid going to learn to poop in a potty?! I have tried just about every trick in the book but keep telling myself that eventually she'll get it. I really wish that she would have "gotten it" before church yesterday.
We were about 10 minutes from the end of the service when that familiar kiddo poop smell hit my nose. I looked to my right and realized that we had inadvertently sat next to the sound booth; rats, trapped in. To my left was an older couple that couldn't really move out of my way and beyond them....the center aisle. Oh the dreaded center aisle. I decided the poo problem could wait and began counting down the minutes until the final hymn.
When the service finally ended I picked up my little girl and sprinted (I use that term rather lightly, after all, what pregnant mother carrying a child sprints?) to the ladies restroom. Thankfully the larger more roomy handicapped stall was open. I knew there was a good chance that a herd of older ladies was making their way to the restroom and that they too would want to use this larger space but decided that my situation warranted the additional room, and besides, how long could this possibly take?
As soon as I set Rachel down I realized that this wasn't going to be a quick in-and-out kind of thing. It was going to be a disaster. And, as I tried to free her little body from her Dora pull-up I realized that I was correct....it was a disaster. There was absolutely no way I could get that thing off without the entire contents being dumped onto the floor. I sighed and got to work and then it turned ugly.
Eventually there was a big glob of poop on my pants, Rachel's foot was covered in it, the floor was sporting a pile and the toilet was smeared with it. Don't ask me, I have no idea how this happened in such a short amount of time. To combat the situation I tucked Rachel's dress into her pony tail holder (yes, it was necessary to put it up that high), stuck her on the toilet and gave her strict orders not to move and, for once, she listened to me and sat very very still. I could hear that a line was quickly forming outside the stall so I tried to work fast, but it was too late. Those little old women began to question what was taking so long in the third toilet and some of them were becoming increasingly annoyed that it was still occupied. But, I didn't care. I had my own problems to solve and figured that being covered in poop trumped making them have to use a shorter toilet in a smaller stall.
I finally got everything cleaned up, put Rachel's shoes back on (she insists on using the potty with nothing on below her waist), and emerged from the restroom, which by now, was empty. Jake was waiting for us with a puzzled look on his face. "Where have you been?" he asked, "I was looking all over for you." Oh really? Did you check the handicapped stall in the ladies bathroom? Because that's where we have been for the past 20 minutes. And yes, I'm pretty sure I left my dignity in there and yes, I do smell poop; I'm pretty sure that I left a smear of it somewhere on my pants.
When we got to our Sunday School room I headed straight for the chair in the corner and whispered a little prayer that maybe, just maybe, no one would notice the smell drifting from my part of the room.
After church I was too frazzled to think about making lunch so we decided to head to Perkins for pancakes. I wish I would have remembered to do one thing before we got there...stop at home and change out of my poop covered pants. Oops.
We got seated at a table that was literally surrounded by teenagers who were in town for a comic convention. Enter Batman. He must have been the ringleader of the group because everyone seemed to be enthralled with his ability to chug a shot of creamer and they all followed suit by also giving the amazing, yet death defying, trick a try. Their waitress noticed what was going on but decided that it would be easier to refill the creamers than try to control four tables of costumed teenagers.
Oh yes, did I forget to mention that these teenagers were still wearing their costumes from the night before? I'm sorry, I should never have left out that minor detail. After all, it did add a special little something to our dining experience.
Their food finally arrived and they all settled down for a bit and that's when I began to wonder if Batman could smell my poop-covered pants.
When we left the restaurant we met Batman walking down the street in his cape and I laughed out loud when Rachel exclaimed, "Look mommy, there's a super hero!" Thank goodness he didn't have a super-human sense of smell, and thank goodness none of his friends did either.
Just in case the day needed a little cherry on top, we discovered that our outdoor momma cat, who had given birth the day before, was the proud mommy of not three (as previously believed) but nine new kittens. Yep nine.
And then I felt just a little bit bad about all of my complaining for having to be pregnant in this summer heat...and vowed to be thankful for air conditioning and single births.
