 So guys, remember that post when I was like, asking for advice on how to survive a plane ride with a toddler? None of that mattered, all she wanted was the tablet and to watch Trolls while she was awake. But, that's not what really matters, something no one could prepare for happened. I solemnly swear this is the truth! I am not going to embellish because the story is already unfuckin' believable. Before I get down to the details, if you don't have kids, or even if you do we need a reference point for the stages of toddler poop: Turd - self explanatory, belongs in a toilet but kid refuses to put it there. Cream cheese - either they at something a little wrong, or, it was a turd and they decided that it was acceptable to continue normal activities with it in their diaper including sitting. Mashed potato - no outward signs that your kid has pooped are present because it slid right out and they continued about their business. Melted smoothie - specks of food are visible, overall liquid texture, likely will leak out the side of the diaper. Vinaigrette - smells God awful, acidic, your kid's stomach is fucked, mostly liquid, features small pieces of poo "shrapnel" So, the night before we were headed to leave on our big adventure. It began. Right before bath time, toddler squatting and screaming inconsolably until "vinaigrette" poo escaped her tiny little body, took 2 to hours get her down for the night, no bath before plane travel, not a good start. Then, her worried parents paced around the house continually checked the monitors and did a middle of the night diaper change only to discover.... A FIVE ALARM DIAPER RASH! Fuck. We are about to board a plane = two hours of sitting, followed by a one hour car ride, with a hot booty tot. Not good. I scraped the last of the triple paste from the bottle, slathered that booty, and hit a 24 hour Walgreens on the way to the airport. Jesus help us. Ok, we're on the road and everyone is so nervously excited!!! It's freakin 5am, I'm jazzed, game face on, all the toys and snacks are ready. Baby Phee here we come (oh and Britt and Erin, and Baby S). Just hanging in the back of the truck singing Trolls jams with my baby and then it happened. One second I forgot one minor detail, before we left at 4:30am, the hot butt baby slammed not one but two drinkable yogurts and I was too sleep deprived and distracted when she screamed for a second one that I just gave it to her instead of thinking that through. Big mistake. DAIRY PUKE, in the car seat that we are taking on the plane. What a cruel world we live in. And side note, why do kids ALWAYS put their hands right in the projectile puke path? Incase you wanted to know, wipes are good for cleaning a multitude of messes, Danimal barf removal from a car seat is not one of these. But, a mom on a mission, on a curb, in an airport unloading zone, is a woman with a way. So, I did the best I could, packed that stink bomb in the bag and off we went. Oh one good thing did happen, babygirl was going to be a lap rider because why wouldn't I take advantage of that while I could? She won't be two until next month, boom, money in the bank. Luckily, the flight was not full so we got to occupy the whole row, and I'm sure everyone else was grateful for this as well. Because...during boarding, a devilish child, I mean my sweet offspring, squatted down in front of her seat, and "melted smoothie" happened. Did you hear me, during BOARDING. People are coming down the aisle, there is no hope of getting this poo out until we are in the fucking air. Everyone strapped in, own seats, Princess Poppy is at the ready. As soon as the seatbelt light is off I'm up for the impossible task that is changing a giant toddler in an airplane bathroom. Time of take off 6:25 am. Time my poo clad toddler fell asleep on the plane. 6:35 am.  Now, I had a choice to make here. Wake a sleeping, chapped assed, beast, then attempt to change said beast in a glorified port-a-john, and have both of us make it out alive. Or, let the beast rest, survive the flight, deal with what lies beneath when we get there. Third possibility which was out of my control is deal with it if and when she wakes up mid-flight. What time do you think Ursula woke up. If you guessed "right when the seatbelt like came on and we began descending," step on down and claim your prize! There we were trapped in a three seat, doo doo death trap, inside of a flying tin can. And now that she is awake she is miserable, refusing to sit, bouncing on my legs in sneakers, and screaming. My husband even asked the flight attendant if there was anyway we could just go change her quickly in a desperate plea. Denied. I think I blacked out for the rest of the flight. We made it. Somehow. Got to the nearest bathroom, screaming, wiping, second wardrobe change of a the day, and a ring pop later, we got our bags and sour car seat and made our way to Long Island with the sweet smell of upchuck in my nose in the back of a rental car. The weekend spent with family was rather uneventful in the best way possible, and in relation to the horrifying events of the aforementioned car, and plane ride. There was a really, really cute one month old baby who is my new Niece! How lucky am I!?!? Two crazy toddlers, my sisters (parents of the most perfect niece ever born) who we were so happy to see after not being in the same state since last Christmas. However, 3 kids under two and 4 adults in a cozy, two bedroom, rental for four days could really be a blog of its own... The plane ride back was far less eventful, I think the Lord knew I was too weak to handle much more. But, she did not sleep a wink and there was a "mashed potato" diaper. If you think I let her sit in that diaper after spending 3 days tending to a diaper rash that was one wrong wipe from broken skin and ended our beach trip early, you are a very silly person. "Center seat changing station for two please." You know what really seals the smell of sweet diaper changed victory away from other passengers? Puke bag. See how we came full circle here? Fold over twice, and bend the tabs like so. 'Til next time, I wish you all SAFE, bodily fluid free, travels. Bon voyage.  AuthorJust a momma trying to figure it all out and survive this crazy life I love.
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Dear "Play Date Moms,"  I see you, piping hot Starbucks, one for your smiling girl friend with her baby in a sling, you sachet in with you baby bump while your toddler almost gets crushed by the closing door, but don't spill that latte girl. *hug, cheek kiss, "you didn't have to bring this you are too sweet"* I see you girl, chatting while your kid gets yelled at by the life guard. Swaying your infant and sipping your green tea while your toddler snatches something from my kid. I see you, fawning over your friend's new bundle of joy while your toddler shoves hers over and takes her toy. Then, you both beg them to play nice and do some activity that is right in your eyesight that they don't give a shit about, but you don't want to chase them, and they don't want to do the same thing. I see you, laughing, catching up, livin' it up in the shade of the sandbox while your kids asks me to help fill their pale. Oh, why is your kid asking me? Because I'm HERE with my kid. Helping, playing, getting dirty, laughing with her. Oh, I have a friend here too, she's right over there! "Hey girl!" She's es down on her hands and knees playing too. We can't finish a conversation because our kids run to two different ends of the park simultaneously. Friend, I'm here, but I'm not here for you girl. Sorry not sorry. I'm here get my kid out the house. I'm here so my kid can hang out with your kids and not grow up to be a dick because she's never had to share. (Yes your kids are test subjects for siblings.) I'm here, for her. To help her, to laugh with her, to play and get dirty with her. If I we want to "see" each other or actually finish and adult conversation, we can grab some drinks. Play dates are not social hour. Sorry to break it to you moms. And, I totally thought they would be, like sweet I'll get to "hang out" with my mom friends all the time and we'lI just lunch, and laugh and chat. No, no, no, I generally finish one to two thoughts at any given play date unless the children are confined to strollers. I don't tell my kid not to "interrupt me while adults are talking", surprise we are at a fucking zoo, a place for children to see animals and learn and observe and tell you all the things see. Listen to your kid don't shush them! These "kid" activities are for surprise, KIDS, your kids. Look up from your flat white and check if your kid is alive, or bullying someone else's kid. I didn't come here discipline or assist your kid I never met in my life, I wanna spend time with my kid and her little homies she is rollin' with or whoever she chooses to play with. I'm not your babysitter. I will ask your kid "where's your mom sweetie?" If they are being a terror or need your help. I have no shame, none. I will tell them "no she can't try that" when they scream that's mine about some toy that they aren't touching and how no claim to. I paid my money to get in here just like you and I want my kid to have the best experience, period. You can call me a helicopter mom if you want but, I bet you won't see my kid shoving yours down the slide. *oh yes I saw you little girl at the pool, some kids need to work up a little courage before they plummet into the water, paws to yourself, where is your mom?!* And if she does, I bet I will see it and correct it, and have her (she's two so this is a struggle) or I will apologize for her behavior and redirect. It's all love mommas but some of y'all need to hear this. If your pissed, maybe you've had one to many frappes.  BRB. Gotta make sure my propellers are in working order.....
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AuthorShauna Hyler, mommy of two beautiful girls! Working, blogging, and adventuring with the hubby and my sweet girls. Categories
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