Strangely, as I looked around the Barnes and Noble parking lot this afternoon, I was the only one wrestling a toddler on the trunk of her car, to use the last of her diaper wipes to clean his face of shredded wheat bits, before going in to play at the free train table for twenty blissful minutes.
What’s up with that? Am I the only good mom in this town? I mean really, isn’t this what good moms do? Publicly tackle and clean their children before taking advantage of local culture?
Yes, I thought so.
Last time mom and I took him to the train table, thinking he would play while we sipped coffee and chatted, it was a disaster. He bolted about seventeen times and I knocked my chai latte over on the previously clean floor. Do you know how hard it is to locate paper towels in Barnes and Noble? Just look around next time you go.
Today though, he played joyfully for what seemed like forever, lining up the cars, pushing them through the tunnels and happily exclaiming “wheeee” as the train went down the hills. For my part, I tried to relax and just enjoy the peace and to ignore the very pricey Thomas trains on the wall behind my son.
And then the stench. I had briefly entertained the thought of calling Ismael at work to ask him if he changed a dirty diaper today, so I would know what I was in for this evening. But who does that? Call her husband, at work, about poop. Yuck.
I wish I had. We might have avoided the train table all together or made better choices than to have used ALL of my available diaper wipes on his face prior to entering the store.
We made our way to the front where I hoped to make a quick purchase but failed miserably when I encountered the BN employee who wanted not only to tell me about their member program but also enter my email address (even though they already have it) into her computer. Gah.
I felt like letting her in on the fact that I had a fully loaded toddler trying to escape from the jail I had made for him with my knees, effectively pinning him against the wall, while I tried to wrap this transaction up as fast as possible, to avoid picking him up and plopping him on her counter. (That is a master of run-on sentences. You are welcome.)
“I have a loaded toddler here. Don’t make me use him. And give me all the cash in your register.”
That possibly may have been a poorer choice than publicly running myself out of wipes.
That’s alright…we showed up at church on Sunday and forgot the diaper bag, which was conveniently sitting on our kitchen table. I told the girl who took Evelyn from me in the nursery, “call me if you need me” and quickly walked away!!
Been there girl! Loaded babies can be used as a nuclear weapon if none other is available.
rolling on the floor laughing. Why use the initials when spelling it out gives the full effect! I’ve been there – with a swim diaper in a pool at a backyard birthday party. Oh Lord they’ll never ask us back. Thankfully I managed to pry HB from the grill long enough to hold down the baby while I dry heaved over the soggy dirty mess. Poor kid, all wet and having the time of her life, then her parents lay her out on the grass in front of the whole party (and the guy from the zoo with the baby animals – aw-) and show everyone what was just swimming in the same pool as their kids. Sometimes I think it’s rough to be a parent, but being a kid can’t be that fun *all* of the time
This mommy gig isn’t all it’s cracked up to be : )
Thanks for the info on that book- I’m out to find it today. Sounds like it might be just the ticket.