Every week there is undoubtedly going to be a collosal disaster with children. My biggest struggle is rolling with the unpredictability of children, as I tend to like things to work out exactly as I planned. It rarely does and you’d think I’d have learned this hard life lesson by now. Recently, my 30 minutes of craziness was simply due to me packing too much into one day and not accounting for the inevitable meltdown, blowout, and need to feed the baby.
“My hand was literally dripping with poop.”
I had come from an early morning dentist appointment, to Waverley’s parent/teacher conference, then picked up the girls and headed to Waverley’s gymnastics class. We barely made it on time and I was in that weird phase of numbers/pain after having my teeth drilled on for over an hour. I hadn’t yet eaten anything– unless you consider multiple cups of coffee and tea as nutritional sustenance. As I mentally considered our current kitchen status (sparse, very sparse) after gymnastics I decided it would be just so lovely to take the girls out to lunch. I had dreamy visions of a girls’ lunch with a peaceful sleeping baby and adorable conversation with a toddler. I needed to feed Magnolia in the car before we got going so sat in the front seat breastfeeding while Waverley was in the back, a meltdown brewing. Threenager rage and attitude began pouring out of her as she began demanding every want imaginable: to watch a movie this second, for a treat, to get a chocolate milk, to have her pony tail taken out immediately, etc.
“To a three year-old, apparently takeout is synonymous with horror.”
As my hanger wore thin, Magnolia began grunting and wrangling. She was working on something fierce. She proceeded to expel the biggest blowout I’ve ever encountered. Poop got all over my car, my pants, and when I lifted my hand from her back it was literally covered and dripping with feces. Waverley yelled, “What’s on your hand, Mama?!” as I calmly tried to reply that it was, in fact, her sister’s poop. Naturally, I did not have a change of clothes for Magnolia (note to self: carry bigger bag when out with children) so I had no choice but to strip her down right there. However, living in Alaska meant it was cold and the naked baby did not appreciate this car diaper change with the door wide open. I wiped us up as much as I could, put her in her car seat sans any clothing (thankfully equipped with a bunting), and decided on takeout over eating in the restaurant. Cue another tantrum from Waverley, as she apparently believes takeout is synonymous with horror. She cried the entire walk into the restaurant that she wanted to eat there while I walked in covered in bright yellow newborn poop with my nursing bra undone (unbeknownst to me), a naked baby in one hand, and dragging a relentless toddler with the other.
Welcome to motherhood.