Yesterday we went to Menards to buy our Christmas tree. We didn’t have too much else going on, so we let the kids play around in the kids play area. (Did you know Menards has this area? I’m expecting to spend hours this winter with the girls in the Menards Play Area.) Anyway, the girls are having a great time playing for nearly a half hour when Zak and I realized Ellie had pooped. (Seriously, who poops while playing in a public play area?)
Anyway, I didn’t have any wipes in my purse, so sent Zak to the car. There were none in the car and the situation was getting pretty desperate. (i.e. Ellie shouting “I pooped!!!”)
Ellie and I go the restroom, enter the handicap stall with the changing table and I grab a huge handful of barely half ply toilet paper. I open the diaper and discover as big of a mess as one can envision that involves dark, sticky, messy goop. I go at it with the tp. Nothing but a lot of smearing takes place. Not a lot of clean up. At this point, Ellie is trying to grab whatever her hand can get on to. I pin her down with an elbow as I reach the four feet to the toilet paper dispenser.
Keep in mind, there are other folks in the facilities and I can’t drag a poopy, half-naked 22 month old across the bathroom to get water to dampen the tp.
The paper shreds with each pointless wipe and the poop is going nowhere. The situation is getting pretty bad. I need a wipe. Or water. Or something!
Then I do something that only a mother would do. (Pardon the vocabulary.) I spit on her ass to clean up my daughter’s shit. Multiple times. Lots. It works a bit. Enough anyway.
I get the new diaper on her and wash my poopy hands a dozen times. I leave the restroom with a not very fun look on my face. At least not the look, you’d expect on the family Christmas tree outing. Zak laughs. I nearly start to cry.
Ellie giggles. “I pooped! It funny!”
We get a very nice Christmas tree and leave with a memory.