moments of the “other” variety

There are moments when you’re a mom. Some moments are pinch-me-am-I-dreaming moments of sitting in the sun with a sweet-smelling infant, breathing in lilac blossoms. Ahh.

And then there are the other moments.

We’ve had several of those in the last 18 hours:

— In the middle of changing Jameson yesterday afternoon, Ryan called. Determined to devote as much attention as possible to our conversation, I paid only enough attention to my bare-bottomed baby to ensure that he didn’t fall off of my bed (where I was changing him.) You can guess what happened. I hung up the phone to find a nice big wet spot on my quilt — and blanket, sheets, etc. To make this a true “moment,” I realized we were late for an appointment, hastily pulled the sheets back to dry, and ran out the door.

— On the way home last night, Jameson, overtired, cried himself silly and threw up several times all over his carseat. I carried my puke-covered angel inside and washed him up, and then quickly settled into our bedtime routine — only to realize my sheets were still damp.What are you going to do? It’s late, your baby needs to be held, and all of your sheets are already packed in boxes, anyway.

— This morning I carried the carseat inside, and armed with a screw driver and a few hints from Brietta, began the process of removing the well-soiled carseat cover. Jameson played happily the whole time I worked, for which I was thankful. The cover was frustrating enough on its own. I don’t think I could have coped if a crying baby grabbing at my ankles had been added to the mix.

— Cover in the wash, I pick up my baby only to realize he’s had a diaper explosion — all over his stomach (sorry for any grossness…), and in all of his excited squirming around, has left a trail on my linoleum.

— Bathe the baby thoroughly, plop him in the pac’n’play, and mop as fast as I can, because now he’s crying. Sit down with a relieved sigh to nurse him, only to realize that I have to be somewhere in 30 minutes, and although I’ve access to my sister’s carseat, I have no way of getting it from her. Buckle Jameson in the back seat for the quick trip over? I don’t think so… And just as I can feel my brain start to smoke, I look down and realize I have yellow poop stains all over my shirt.


[laugh or cry?… don’t worry. so far i’m still laughing.]

11 Comments moments of the “other” variety

  1. nancy

    someday, years hence, you will realize that your life isn’t all about poop.
    but for now, remain philosophical and keep antibiotic soap extremely handy.

  2. Keila

    Wow! I admire you for laughing! I’ve cried for much less than that. Though now that I come to think of it, the last time Adriana had such an explosion it was on the carpet, so I kept finding spots when I had thought I was done cleaning already! Love you! Hope your day today goes better!

  3. louissa

    so i’m a bit behind in all my online stuff, but thanks for the pictures. to be able to look at all of them was a perfect end to my day.

    i love you.

  4. Margaret

    this will be a story that is retold many times down through the years. and you will fondly remember that day and yearn for when he was six months.

  5. Angela Sundaramurthy (Garone)

    I’ve had to tackle many a plop-o’-poo in my days as a mother, but not in quite a series as you just wrote! ACCCK! On a side note: I’ve spent enough mothering days in places like Guam, Japan, and Hong Kong that a quick buckle-up in a big-boy’s seat belt for a short trip down the street would make me nervous, but I’d still do it. (Memories of being in a taxi in Hong Kong, going about 90 miles per hour down a freeway… no joke… at 1am with 7mo Seth in nothing but a sling against my body and 2yo Cassie buckled next to me in the back seat. CRINGE!) I found that, in Japan, such contraptions are more embarassing than noble. For example, they’d wear bicycle helmets (unbuckled) on base because it was required, but then took them off and hid them in a backpack as soon as they got off base. You’d be driving down the expressway looking into neighboring cars with toddlers bouncing around in the back seat.

    Why do I always write such long comments? Dial-up, I guess. I have to make the best of every click I make. It’s more like a chance to email and comment in one!


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