What Tha?!?! and D'OH!

I have been silently ridiculed complimented for my recent display of maternal ingenuity with regards to yesterday's unfortunate mishap involving the intestinal cleaning powers of prunes on one 7 month old infant and one ill-prepared mother.
Grace Under Pressure.
That is me.
What would have been more impressive however is if I had actually utilized this ...


What tha?
Oh. No. It's. Not.


Oh yes.
IT. IS.
In the back of my car.
Which is where I INGENIOUSLY put it in case I were to ever find myself WITHOUT one.
But wait! There's more!
The contents inside! Let's take a look-see.

Hmm... well whadd'ya know! Everything one could ever want in case one were to find themselves in an emergency situation such as, oh... I don't know... a leaking shitty diaper and no (apparent) diaper bag!
Diapers. Changing Pad. Extra Clothes.
Who would have thought that I could be so BRILLIANT?!
Obviously, I did at one point.
And then promptly forgot.

(I saw it while going out to get the mail late yesterday afternoon and I just happened to look into the back of my car.)

(Ok, I was actually looking at my reflection in my car windows because I have lost almost all of my pregnancy weight and we don't have any full length mirrors in the house and contrary to what The Hubby says I look damn good. Oh, Vanity They Name Is Woman. And your point is what? What I lack in brains I will happily make up for in looks.)

There's A Reason Why God Invented Diaper Bags

And that reason is so you can have all the diaper changing essentials WITH YOU when your baby decides to take a prune-induced shit while sitting on your hip as you fill out a STOOPID form to withdraw your son from preschool (for the summer?? are you fucking kidding me?) and during which time has caused the shit to shoot out the leg of your baby's outfit all over your forearm like an exploding ketchup packet and which is also being smeared all over her thighs as you shift and adjust her weight on your hip.

Failure to bring said diaper bag along with you for the five minute car ride to and from the preschool (because, really, what could happen in such a short amount of time???) WILL result in you having to place said baby face down on the front seat of your vehicle while you rummage through the glove compartment in the middle of the parking lot looking for extra Dunkin' Donuts napkins to wipe up baby shit while the child whom you have come to pick up exclaims how D.I.S.G.U.S.T.I.N.G. the poop is and how WRONG it is and you will just beg him to pleeaassee put on your straps and BE QUIET.

(And as you are rummaging through the glove compartment looking for napkins with your baby face down on the front seat, she begins speaking to you in her baby-grunt language as if to ask you, "What the hell, Ma?!?")

(There were but four... FOUR napkins, BTW)

And then in a moment of desperation you will take the VERY LAST Dunkin' Donuts napkin to push any remaining poop back INTO the diaper along with the napkin creating a make-shift dam to hold back any additional oozing of the poop until you can get home and clean up your baby the right way. With WIPES and a fresh CLEAN diaper for God's sake!

Confessions of a Bad Mommy

Hansel, is 3 1/3 , and not potty trained. According to all "the experts" he is not ready to venture into this new frontier ; hubby and I are ok with this (sorta) and are trying not to force the issue... especially with the impending arrival of his new baby sister which will no doubt, as experts also say, send us backwards a couple of steps. So, no, the lack of potty training is not what makes me a bad Mommy.

Read on...

Rewind to earlier in the week and, in getting The Boy dressed for our 8:30am OB appointment, realizing that his Pull-Ups have remained completely dry overnight (WOOHOO! A sign of potty training readiness!). Casually, I ask him if he wants to use his potty. "No, thanks," is his reply. Even after pointing out that his bladder is no doubt bursting at the seams with pee and he would surely be able to go, he still refuses. Ok, I drop the subject for now and help him get dressed.

Fast-foward to 1 hour later and, while leaving the OB's office, The Boy protests sitting in his carseat because he has a "pee-pee diaper." ANOTHER SIGN! He had never had a problem with sitting in a wet Pull-Up so I see this as yet another positive step towards getting closer to using the potty. Once again I shall refer to the experts who stress that I need to change the offending undergarment immediately thereby reinforcing his preference to stay dry in the hopes it will translate into his wanting to use the potty. The problem? I don't have my diaper bag with me and, therefore, no dry Pull-Ups. So I negotiate with The Boy and promise him that I will change him when we get home. Satisfied by this he happily climbs into his carseat.

Fast-forward to 4 hours later and, while I am goofing off blogging, The Boy happily exclaims "Mommy, I am making pee-pee!" HALLELULIAH! I think. Three major potty-training milestones in one day... surely success is imminent! Immediately I start praising The Boy for letting me know the goings-on in his pants (knowledge that I am sure to be discouraging as he gets older) when I am suddenly stopped dead in my tracks as he proceeds to show me the urine trickling flowing down his legs. My jubilation quickly turns into panic as I am overcome with the horrific realization that I NEVER CHANGED HIS PULL-UP FROM THE MORNING/PREVIOUS NIGHT AND THE FLOOD OF URINE THAT HE HAS BEEN PEEING ALL DAY HAS FINALLY BREACHED THE LEVEE AND IS NOW SPILLING ALL OVER OUR BRAND NEW CARPET!

Shorts, t-shirt, couch slip-cover, legs and carpet all soaked with urine. Bad Mommy.

BAD MOMMY!

Too wet to have him move anywhere lest we leave a trail of urine throughout the house that would no doubt provide hours of sniffing entertaintainment for our bloodhound with his highly-evolved-olfactory-senses (if we had one) but would at best trigger some territorial marking behavior in our two cats, I tell The Boy to STAND STILL! while I retrieve the necessary supplies to correct my glaring failure as a responsible Mommy committed to potty-training. Change of clothes, new Pull-Up, wipes (for The Boy), towels (for the carpet), Lysol & Febreze, slip-cover torn off couch and promptly thrown into washer.

Fast-forward 2 days later after I finally gathered up enough nerve to confess my crime to hubby and, in hearing me re-tell the story, The Boy looks at me and in the most reassuring of voices says "It's ok, Mommy."

::sigh::