On those days when you're about to leave the house with the baby [alone, I might add] and you only grab a onesie as you're walking out the door--no pants because you're just sort of planning for the "worst case poop scenario," you're basically asking for it. You're asking for that not-well-planned-for worst case poop scenario to happen while you're at Old Navy. And you know what? It did. Literally as soon as we got there, I had to go straight back to the bathroom to change my precious little boy. But what did he do as soon as I placed him on the changing table? He screamed. And not like, "I hate having my diaper change" crying... it was "I'm dying/in pain/being tortured" screaming. And of course, as soon as I take his pants off, poop is everywhere. Everywhere. [OK, not everywhere. But in the moment it felt like it.] I have to strip him down [more screaming] and somehow get all the poop cleaned up. And guess what? I'm down to about seven wipes. Why? Because this exact same thing happened yesterday at the bank. And I was, as previously stated, ill-prepared for another similar situation. I was miraculously able to conserve my wipe usage and had just enough to clean everything. I put the thank-goodness-I-grabbed-it onesie on him, and put him back in his carseat which resulted in--you guessed it!--more screaming. I quickly and not efficiently at all rinsed his clothes, washed my hands, and picked him back up. Then I proceeded to push a stroller with one hand and hold a very sad baby with the other while trying to find inexpensive short sleeved t-shirts as quickly as humanly possible. I found three t-shirts and two pairs of pants for Logan [because clearly we're lacking those], and hightailed it out of there. We're home. Logan nursed himself to sleep and I'm praying [truly genuinely praying with all my heart] that he will sleep for at least an hour and a half. It was a rough day... and this particular part of it was less than an hour long.
Just for the record, I've rinsed out three poop-covered onesies and pairs of pants since yesterday. My husband, just yesterday morning, said, "He really doesn't have poop explosions that often..." And I officially beg. to. differ. But you guys. We leave for Indonesia on Saturday. We will be traveling for over twenty-four hours straight. It's bad enough imagining that Logan will scream for a good part of our rather long flights. It's something else all together to imagine endless poop explosions on an airplane. Please pray that my sanity will still be in tact by the end of this week. I've imagined so many horrible scenarios for this trip, I don't know that it's good for my health to travel too much with this child. Sigh.
On a side note, I really love being a mom. And I love my son. I just don't like poop. Rather, I don't like cleaning poop off of clothing.
I've packed one bag. It can still hold about fourteen more pounds, but I don't know that we can fit that much more in the bag. Nor do we have that much more stuff to pack... and still two and a half more suitcases we can fill. This week is kind of dragging on. It's only Tuesday. I really need to not be anticipating this trip anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm beyond excited about visiting my family and my childhood "home" [by "home" I mean country]! And I can't wait to get some amazing Indonesian KFC and roti canai and kue putu. And possibly go to a movie for less than in a movie theater that puts American theaters to shame. [Most Indonesian movie theaters are so incredibly nice. Only a select few American theaters are nice. True story.]
So much for an hour and a half nap. He's awake. But at least he's happy and awake. :) And he's pretty cute. Hah.
You know what sounds incredibly wonderful right now? A big glass of cold water. Ah. Merry Christmas to all!
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