Why is it always when you have super important, can’t-wait-kinda-things to do, and are in a race against the clock, something always happens to make it all the more difficult?
Take yesterday for example. I was running late for an appointment and needed to drop my little darlings off at day care on the way. The entire morning was a whirlwind of action, which mostly involved me going around in circles and getting nowhere fast.
I made toast for breakfast; Vegemite for the Woo, peanut butter for Foghorn and cream cheese for Bubble. In my haste to deliver their food to the table, and gulp down my steaming hot super-charged caffeine hit, I managed to trip, dropping every single piece of toast on the floor. (And yes, for those of you wondering – it was spread-side down! The dogs were ecstatic as they helped to clean up. I, however, was close to pulling out my own hair as I reloaded the toaster to the disgruntled chants of “I’m hungry!”
I dressed Bubble, then moved on to pack the children’s bags, only to find moments later that she had promptly undressed herself, and was running around in her nappy giggling manically.
By the time I finally got around to herding them out of the front door, I already felt as though I had done a hard day’s work and was in desperate need of another strong coffee.
It was at this exact moment that The Woo informed me “Pwoar! Mummy, Foghorn stinks of poo.”
Breathing in through my nose, and crossing my fingers that it had just been a release of wind, I immediately judged that he was right.
Argh! He’d only had the damn nappy on for 6.3 minutes. Had he been waiting for a clean one just to crap in?
My stress levels teetered on the brink of maximum overload as I glanced at the clock. If I was going to make my appointment on time I would need a small miracle, or at the very least, a jet-fuelled rocket up my arse.
In that moment, poised between the house and the car, I made a decision. Not one that I am very proud of in hindsight, but a decision nevertheless.
“Come on into the car.”
I simply didn’t have time. I would feign ignorance of Foghorn’s recent deposit into his nappy and somebody else would change him. There was little chance of that treasure going unnoticed for very long, that was for sure.
“But, Mummy! “ The Woo coughed and gagged, as I held my nose and strapped them into the car. “Foghorn pooed himself. He STINKS.”
“Yes, yes. That’s nice dear. Come on. Hurry along.”
As we entered the day care centre, I tried to maintain a reasonable distance from my son, so as to give the impression that I may, somehow be unaware of the pungent contents of his nappy.
What I hadn’t foreseen, was The Woo announcing at the top of his lungs for all and sundry to hear, “Foghorn stinks of poo. Foghorn pooed himself. I TOLD MUMMY AT HOME TO CHANGE HIM AND SHE SAID NO!”
Um, yeah…right. That’ll teach me! I won’t be trying that again!
Please tell me I am not the only one in the history of mothering who has ever tried to fob off a dirty nappy to somebody else?