Anyone that has children or is around children will know this, they have an absolute skill when it comes to timing. I am talking about timing with poo here, but this can apply to pretty much anything, vomiting, falling asleep, refusing to sleep, deciding they are starving or thirsty, wanting to find their long lost favourite toy when you are already running late for the doctor, yep pretty much anything. I realise this more and more each day, however this week provided yet another shining example of how true this actually is.
We had a birthday dinner with some friends, so as per normal I packed the nappy bag, restocked snacks, nappies, wipes, grabbed a cold water and double checked it all. Oakland had his dinner, a bath and got dressed nicely to go out and likely ruin another shirt with the second dinner he would scab from our plates. I liken him to a hobbit when it comes to food. Now, generally Oakland’s poops are pretty spot on. He consumes that much fruit that his little bowels are more regular than me feeding my Coke Zero habit at the Maccas drive through. Because of this, it has been a long time since I have packed him an extra pair of pants in the nappy bag. Months ago I did a big clean out and downsized as he was long past the newborn phase and I had a million things that I just didn’t need to be lugging around on top of a 12kg+ toddler. I used to have two spare outfits, socks, bibs, singlet and a onesie. It was ridiculous. I managed to cut the bulk of the spare clothes out and now just carry around a handful of bibs and one clean shirt. If I am going more than an hour from home I will chuck in pants and a jumper, but dinner was local.
I don’t know if any of you follow Oakland on Instagram (@oakland.original) but if you do, you will know that Alee and I like to dress him immaculately. This night was no exception and he was dressed up and ready to party in his brand new Lil Homme camo pants. He sat and ate a tonne of food while he watched his nursery rhymes on Youtube; he was killing it. It was getting close to home time and I picked him up out of his chair because he was beginning to crack the shits. Yep, no wonder. He was sitting there in his own shit. Alee tapped out as per usual and left it for me. As I carried him to the bathroom I could feel his pants were wet, not a good sign. I get to the toilets, I look in the disabled and there is no change table. I go into the women’s, check every single stall and still no change table. There was a thin bench seat along one wall (fuck knows why, I mean no one was going to come in here and hang out). It was one of those horribly uncomfortable ones with wooden rails that had big gaps between each rail. It was at this moment I remembered that when I downsized, I also chucked the change mat. Sorry Oakland but your back was going to be sore.
I pulled down his pants and the shit had melted out the sides of his nappy and there were chunks all inside his pants. This was not even a small leak, it was like his shit had taken its own shit…what made this even worse was the fact that because I hadn’t expected it to be this bad, I pulled his pants down fast and chunks of poop fell out of his pants and landed between the gaps of the bench and on the floor. It was a mess. Well, take that Tallei golf club, maybe invest in a dedicated changing area. I would like to take this moment to also inform you that after I bathed Oakalnd tonight, Alee put his nappy on. By the looks of it she had not pulled it over to one side completely. Thanks mate. As I pulled the nappy off I was silently thanking the nappy bag gods that I had topped the wipes up because Oakland is generally a three wipe kinda guy and this was no three wipe kinda poop. It literally contained sultanas that had rehydrated and magically become whole grapes again. I changed the nappy, grabbed the shitty pants (which I now regret not rinsing in their bathroom sink first) and chucked them inside a plastic nappy bag. Crap. I had no fucking spare pants. We were at a birthday dinner with maybe 15 people and a room full of other patrons eating their food and I was about to be that feral who had her kid in a nappy. I literally only knew like five people out of the birthday group too. It’s bad enough being a heavily tattooed mum with bright green hair, who also happens to be dating a girl with tattoos. The looks we get could kill. Everyone just assumes we are feral. Now I was about to prove it.
I walked out holding Oakland trying my best to cover his bare legs hoping no one would notice his lack of pants and get Alee’s attention. I whispered that it was time to go and also that she had not put his nappy on properly, but Alee can be an ignorant twat at the best of times and she decided it was time to let Oakland (now also barefoot because I found it really awkward to put him in just socks and a shirt) run around the club. Well I nearly fucking died. I was so embarrassed. There was my feral child, running around in a nappy in public in front of everyone. As if things couldn’t get any worse, the two girls celebrating their birthdays work in childcare and so I always feel a bit like I need to be on my best mum mode around them because they actually know how to care for a child and how I should be caring for mine. One of them chose that moment to lean in and say “you should pack spare pants in the bag”. Yes. I know. Trust me I know. Trust me that right in that moment I was already thinking that and mentally destroying myself for failing yet again as a parent. Actually, while I am being honest, those shitty pants are still sitting in the nappy bin soaking in Sard, and this is days later.
So lesson for the week, don’t ever assume that your kid that poops like clockwork will ever do you any favours. Always pack spare pants, even though you haven’t dealt with a poo explosion in months and months, because I can guarantee you there is always another one lurking around the bend. A heavy nappy bag is better than a feral child any day. Bring on the scoliosis.