I had the mother of all poop fiasco's! The MOTHER. I know all you sweet mama's out there have your "oh that was a rough one" or "I can't believe it" stories prepared in your ever growing Mama Resume. I know I have a few previous
scars experiences that might get a laugh or two but I'd like you just try and beat this one.
No really, I'd actually really like to hear your stories - No joke! I need to pull myself out of this self wallowing state of affairs - Link up with me for the 2011 Poop-A-Palooza. Leave a comment and link up to your blog! Let the stories flow. ;)
So back to poopville. There we were sitting and enjoying a nice Red Robin dinner. I look over at Munch whose face is beat red. You know the face right? The concentrating push face. Shoot. If only he could have waited till we were home. :(
After the damage is complete, I grab Munch and his backpack and trek to the bathroom. Dun Dun Dunnnnn. There is no changing table in sight! WHAT?! Doesn't every Red Robin have a changing station?? As I start to mentally write out a nasty complaint letter to Red Robin bathroom designers, I take a chance and peak into the handicapped stall.
Nasty letter averted, I see this amazing sight.
And so the process begins. Changing table is folded down. Changing pad is laid down. Wipes are ready and balancing on the top lip of the changing table. Plastic poop bag is ready and by my feet. I lay Munch down only to find out that we've got some Up-The-Back damage here. Ugh. And so the fiasco begins.
The poop is so far up his back that the clothes are done for. With pants and socks off, I stand Munch up and try to fold his shirt into itself as I take it off. FAIL. The poop smears up into his hair!!!!! Not only does it smear up into his hair but part of the diaper sticker gets stuck on his shirt and as I am pulling it up it snaps back like a rubber band flinging poop on to ... ME. MY FACE!!! Really? Why. WHY????
As my blood pressure is rising so is the number of wipes I am going through. I want to disinfect my entire face. I'm attempting to give Munch a sponge bath on a changing table that now feels like the size of a bicycle seat. Oh yea, and did I mention that during this whole thing Munch is grabbing at everything and anything he can reach and attempting to throw it into the carefully placed toilet that just happens to be right underneath/next to the changing table? Awesome planning. Awe-some.
I've got a naked boy. I've managed to get the poopy mess into bags on the floor and as I go to lay him down to put a new diaper on, Munch successfully reaches up, grabs the diaper cream I had balancing on the ledge and chuck it all the way into the next stall. OH. My. gosh.
White flag anyone? At this point all I can do is laugh. This whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. Naked boy and all, I manage. The diaper cream is recovered. The boy is changed and dressed. The poop bags are in the trash. As tempting as it was to just throw the clothes away, I bag up those beauties and pack up the rest of the changing pad and table. I am exhausted.
Farewell bathroom of horror. I hope to never see you again.