smells like a Thursday

You can tell it's Thursday because my posts always get a little excited. Thursday = homeschool PE = guaranteed mayhem. Something about one mom, five kids, a long drive, and physical activity. Today, it was certifiably chilly out. Not "Florida cold," but actual, honest cold. For the first time this winter we could see our breath pluming in the air. When I started the car up the thermometer read 36 degrees. Of course it also said "ICE" in big warning letters, and I'm pretty sure we were safe in that aspect. The kids were bundled in jackets, socks, and shoes, and we picked up my niece and headed off to PE.

Many miles and ten degrees later, we made it to the park. My kids had their fingers crossed in the hopes that PE would once again be moved indoors, in part to avoid the cold and in part to avoid running laps. As luck would have it, the activities were in fact moved inside. The big kids ran off into the building, and I reached in to unbuckle the baby. The suddenly very, very stinky baby. The baby who decided to forgo his typical first-thing-in-the-morning routine and instead relieve himself at a most inopportune moment.

We made the trudge of shame to the public restroom, Hobie on my hip and Coral dragging on my pant leg. Luckily the building had a changing station, and I quickly had the plastic contraption open and hogging up three-fourths of the small women's bathroom. Hobie had never before been changed in such a location (I usually take care of the dirty deed right on the front seat of the car), and he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of lying on his back like a wounded turtle on this giant hard table hanging from the wall. Can't say I blame him.

I unsnapped his Fuzzibunz and did a double take. I'm not one to be squeamish, but this was the diaper to end all diapers. This was by far the nastiest, smelliest, biggest poop he had ever had in his little life. Poop was spread from one corner of the diaper to the other, front to back. He may be thirteen months old, but he's also still mostly breastfed, so there wasn't a whole lot of form to his function, if you get my drift. That it was all contained instead of covering his clothes and car seat is a sheer testament to cloth diapers.

However, since it was a cloth diaper, there was no tossing it in the garbage can. I didn't have a wetbag or a grocery bag or a Ziploc bag or an anything with me. I could vividly picture where my stash of scented plastic baggies was sitting all cozy at home, but I had nowhere to put this oozing stink bomb. I pushed the diaper down the table by his feet, and tried vainly to keep his appendages out of the mess with one hand as the other was struggling to open a travel wipe case. After much tug of war the case popped open and baby wipes rained all over the baby and the bathroom floor. I grabbed for wipes with my two free fingers and scrubbed the mess from his behind as he did his best impression of an alligator death roll. In moments he was snapped into a new diaper and his clothes were readjusted. He sat up and sat still. Crisis averted.

But I still had the diaper to end all diapers in my hands, and stood for a moment, a deer in headlights. Did I walk back through the reception area and front desk of the building with my load? Did I cram it in the diaper bag along with all of the baby's snacks and hope for the best? I frantically riffled through the bag, praying for Ziploc. Surely something in the diaper bag was plastic and capable of containment. That's when my fingers settled on a bucket hat. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Someone else was opening the door into the bathroom, and I crammed the diaper into the hat and velcroed the chin strap right around its foul contents. Then we strolled casually out to the lobby, the parking lot, and the car, and deposited our camouflaged load onto the passenger seat. Take that, carjackers.

The rest of PE was a flurry of chasing a fresh-smelling baby around a small room as he explored every shiny silver electrical outlet, unidentified floor fodder, and anything else he wasn't supposed to have. The big kids did their thing, the hour was over, and after a brief and chilly foray onto the playground outside, it was time to head home.

That's when the screaming began. "Mommy! Mommmmm-mmeeeeee! What is this on my seat? WHAT is in this hat?! Is that what I think it is?!"