Sunday, October 30, 2011

read at your own risk...

My sister-in-law recently wrote a paper for her high school english class.  It was a short, fiction story about the worst day she had ever had.  The following story is non-fiction in it's entirety, and may be just a little worse.

Today, I woke up to my husband putting his hand on my arm. "It's almost 8:00 babe."  Guh.  Only an hour to be at church.  "What happened to the alarm?" I asked with concern.  Sunday mornings are always rushed; good thing I bathed the baby last night.

I changed Muffin's diaper, got his breakfast and went to do my hair.  Hubs made us some toast and eggs for breakfast and I came out to eat just as the baby put a handful of hot cereal on his head.  *sigh* So much for the bath.  We were going to be late. 

Once I bathed the baby and handed him off to hubs to dress, I had to rush to get dressed myself.  I finished my makeup and got my church bag and we rushed off to church.  We were 15 minutes late and..."why are there no cars here?"  Oh great, Stake Conference!  Well, we missed the Saturday session, but we were at the church now, and in time to get a good seat.  I was willing to celebrate the small victories. 

While hubs saved a seat, I tried to wear Muffin down so he'd sit still during the meeting.  We walked and walked, and once the meeting started he was doing really great: eating cheerios, reading his book.  We made it through three talks without a hitch.  Every Momma's dream meeting!  Then, during the rest hymn, Muffin pulled the "get out of the Chapel free card."  He pooped his pants. 

Ok, no big deal.  That's what toddlers do.  Well, he is teething, and for Muffin, that means diarrhea.  By the time we smelled the dirty deed, there were already juices leaking onto his brand-clean, oh so adorable, tiny white Sunday Shirt.  Hubs just had to point and gag, and I was outta there.  By the time we got to the bathroom and the changing table, it was bad.  I just stood him there and started peeling off his shirt.  Some other poor mom with a whiny kid realized her day wasn't quite as bad as she may have thought, and compassionately slid me the garbage can with a sympathetic smile.  

I started at the shoulder blades and worked down, one wet wipe at a time.  I finally thought I had the punk clean enough to lay him down and actually take the diaper off, but laying him down sent poop up his back once again.  I eventually got HIM all cleaned up, and then I managed to clean off the changing table AND the lid of the garbage can without him "helping."  Now, what to do with the clothes?

Eventually, I led my nearly-naked son to the Custodian's Closet and found a garbage bag for the soiled outfit.  Then I gathered up the baby, the garbage bag, and what was left of the wipes and headed out to the car.  Surely this was as good an excuse as any to just go home.  Hubs could get a ride home, right?

Fantastic!  No keys.

Well, now what?!  I couldn't walk home.  And my pride hurt too much to take Muffin and what was left of his church outfit back into the room where there were tons of people and THE PROPHET WAS SPEAKING just for keys.  Granted, it was just a video conference and President Monson wasn't actually there, but what about all the people?  The old people in that chilly chapel would surely judge me for bringing my baby to church in only socks and a diaper, and there was no way to tell them what REALLY happened!  How could I subject myself to such assumptions? 

We spent the duration of the meeting in the hall.  Muffin thought it was the best day at church he had ever experienced: nude, playing, not having to sit quietly.  Then, during the closing song, I remembered the diaper explosion nestled in a bed of used paper towels lurking in the Ladies bathroom.  ACK!! That was going to sit there for nearly a WEEK before church cleaning day.  And oh, those poor people who were in charge of emptying the trash.  I didn't feel like I could do that to a poor, unsuspecting, servant of God volunteering their Saturday to prepare the church for next week's meetings.  What to do, what to do? I couldn't take out the trash with Muffin's help.

Well, I hurriedly decided to clean up after myself like my Mom taught me, which meant taking the naked baby back to hubs.  Embarrassment!  Humiliations galore!  At least the Prophet wasn't still speaking, although I'm sure he would have understood.  I rushed back to the custodian's closet, grabbed what I hoped was the right size of bag, and took the garbage out to the dumpster.  I was back by the end of the closing prayer and we rushed right out of there. 

Finally, safely at home, I scrubbed poop out of clothes while Hubs made a quick lunch.  I sat down to the meal with a sigh of relief, glad the fiasco was over.  We prayed over the food and just as we started eating, Muffin put a handful of baked beans on his head. 
what a NOOB!