At some point in our mothering careers, it has happens to the best of us. At least, that’s what I like to think anyway. It comforts me to think that there are other mums out there, locking themselves in public toilets with their offspring, frantically trying to wipe poo from between their shoulder blades. I am talking, of course, of the dreaded nappy explosion known as number threes.
Number three’s are never a welcome visitor, in the eyes of any parent, but least so when in a public place, and especially when you have neglected to pack the all-important spare clothes.
I know…what was I thinking?
Some of you may remember that last week I had a VIP visit, from, well…a very important person, of course!
After frantically scrubbing, and sprucing my home in the lead up to day one of the visit, I quickly and deftly hatched a plot for day two. In the words of Blackadder, I came up with a plan “so cunning, you could pin a tail on it and call it a weasel!” We’d take the children and meet at a play centre.
Well, it might have been an ingenious plan, were it not for the fact that it was:
1) The school holidays and therefore chock-a-block with kids. I know! A play centre over-run with kids! And not any old kids, I might add. The very worst kind…other people’s kids! Eeeek!
2) Foghorn, decided to veer off the toilet-training plan ever so slightly before the arrival of said VIP.
Let, me re-cap.
On entering the large multi-coloured establishment and ordering myself a triple expresso caffeine hit (and that was just to rub into my under-eye area), I had a quick glance around to check if VIP #1 and her daughter had arrived, and noting with relief that they hadn’t, I parked our belongings at an empty table. (I hate to be late).
Foghorn, at the tender age of 34 months, a seasoned veteran of play centres, dutifully kicked off his runners and made a bee-line for the huge red and yellow slide. Bubble, excited by the sights and sounds of other kids squirmed and moaned to be released from my clutches. Pulling off her boots and pulling her little dress down over her nappy-lump, I lowered her into the padded toddlers section.
Bubble had been toddling around happily, in that jaunty chimp-like way she has, when I noticed (out of the corner of my eye) another mum lowering her little girl into the area too.
Ooooh, I thought. She is so cute. Look at her hair. If only Bubble would sit still long enough for me to do that. She is so…sniff…sniff…phew…stinky!
I glanced across at the other mum quizzically. Could she really be in that close a proximity to her very cute, but very smelly daughter and not have an inkling about the contents of her nappy?
It was then, that I heard the unmistakable sound of Foghorn behind me. Before I knew it he had scaled the wall and had hopped in beside his sister.
“Look,” he said excitedly bending over to pick up a plastic yellow ball.
It was then that I noticed.
His t-shirt rode up his back to reveal a stinky, dare I say chunky, brown trail up his back.
In what could only be described as blind panic, I scooped up Bubble, grabbed my backpack of nappies and my handbag, and ushered Foghorn quickly to the parent’s room.
I’m sure, I don’t need to go into the details, but suffice it to say that half a packet of wet wipes later, I was starting to see some pink skin again.
I thanked my lucky stars that it was a cold Melbourne day, and that I had decided to go for the old short-sleeved t-shirt over the long sleeved one. Phew! The long sleeved, poo stained top was promptly removed, tied up in a scented nappy bag, and deposited into a zip section in the bag. What I would have down otherwise I do not know!
All of this was conducted, I might add, whilst also stopping 17 month old Bubble from touching toilet seats, sitting on the bathroom floor and making like the Andrex puppy and depositing the toilet roll everywhere. Yeah, I know, a tough gig, right?
Twenty minutes later, slipping out of the toilet, I immediately recognised Mrs VIP’s handbag on a nearby table. They had arrived. Argh! Foghorn’s excitement had returned on spotting his newest playmate and he ran to greet them. As he ran to welcome them, I silently wondered how a child so angelic looking as my little Foghorn, had managed to release something as evil and disgusting only a few moments before.
“Hi,” I smiled, trying not to look dishevelled and praying to God I didn’t smell of poop! I leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Sorry, we’re late.”
Do you have an embarrassing nappy explosion story?
Image courtesy of <p><a href=”http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=2125″>Image: photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></p>