And maybe because I like to complain.
After driving for about four hours, we had pulled over somewhere on Route 17 in the middle of New York State because the baby just wouldn't stop CRYING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. The Hub took Plus One to the lavatory and I set out to give T9 some food.
As soon as I lifted him out of his car seat, however, I realized that kid had pissed himself something fierce, so I brought him to the front passenger seat to change his diaper. I laid a blanket down and gave him a
Then, things got kind of fuzzy for several reasons. Primarily, I believe, because I'm pretty sure that's my mind's way of keeping me out of an insane asylum. As it so happens, you also benefit since I cannot specifically detail the amount of BABY POOP that was suddenly and instantly in my frame of sight.
People, I am a somewhat seasoned mother. I have cleaned shit OFF OF WALLS. Shit that did not get there by means of hands. And this still jarred me.
(And here I am, TELLING THE INTERNET ABOUT IT.)
Almost immediately, I used my words to start venting the absolute impossibility of the daunting task I was facing. THE POOP, that is.
Me: OH MY FUCKING GOD.
T9: [Giggle. Places distracting item IN POOP.]
Me: OH NO! OHNOOHNOOHNOOOO! OH GOD IT'S EVERYWHERE!
T9: [Scowl. Sly smirk.]
Me: WHAT DID YOU EAT, CHILD?!
Mind you, there are people passing me on their way to the bathroom, and I almost want them to hear me so they all fall to their knees and pray for my strength (okay, soul) in this great time of crisis. But I'm also probably glaring at them with thoughts of "Yeah, you JUST GO TO THE BATHROOM while I die in a pile of crap over here, YOU UNGRATEFUL, SMUG BASTARDS."
I tend to get a little over the top sometimes, friends.
But while I'm elbow-deep in crap, in the VERY SEAT I have to ride in during this insanely long journey, I manage to overhear a couple about 15 feet away from where I'm standing at our truck. They have placed a blanket down on the grass next to a picnic table and are apparently having a true-blue PICNIC. And they are playing airplane with their impossibly pleasant baby.
AT A REST-STOP. IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. WHILE I AM FIGHTING OFF THE POOP SMEARS LIKE THE GODDAMN PLAGUE.
(Clearly, they were sent here to mock me. NO, REALLY.)
This couple clearly heard my groans, my inappropriate cursing in front of my innocent child. (Hey, it's called INFANTILE AMNESIA for a reason, kids!) And their picture of a family road-trip only began to contrast more with mine as I bemoaned my shit-duty and dodged poop-covered objects being hurled toward my head from inside the truck's cab.
I almost couldn't decide if I wanted to smack them for being so
In the end, I was just too stunned to do anything other than completely CELEBRATE that I didn't even get any poop on the little baby blanket I'd laid down under T9's vengeful butt.
I tidied up my little combat zone and placed T9 lovingly to my chest, and snuggled his neck. I even lifted him in the air a little, looking up at his face as it glowed in front of the mid-day sun.
We are totally that perfect little family too, DAMNIT. (Just in between those moments when we're so totally NOT.)
As I took him back down into my arms, I looked up to see The Hub emerging from the bathroom with Plus One. I waved and smiled.
It was the opening scene of a Hallmark movie--the movie that didn't end with death or adultery. Though, maybe some therapy.
Then, upon sight of me, Plus One went boneless and laid prostrate across the path of an elderly couple, and commenced shrieking. The Hub tried to look occupied. I tried not to look like this was pretty much commonplace.
(Later I was informed that Plus One had become utterly devastated when The Hub forbade him from picking up a urinal cake.)
As we packed the family back into carseats, I noticed the Perfect Couple and their Perfect Child out of the corner of my eye. They were driving their picnic back onto the hightway, and I'm pretty sure as they approached the entrance ramp, she was making the sign of the cross.
PS: When he's not crapping on me, my son loves AC/DC.
(And Joan Jett.)