. . . to grandmother’s house we go!
Well, that’s not completely accurate. It’s more like over the river and over the woods since we took an airplane here.
Despite the fact that Alaska Airlines tested my son’s patience by making him sit on the runaway for an hour and a half before taking off (for an hour long flight), he did quite well.
Although the flight was relatively uneventful, our ramp-up to Ian’s first ride was quite exciting. Exciting in that it included copious amounts of poop. Everywhere.
It started as we were standing in line to drop off our bags. I could tell Ian had dropped a bomb in his pants. You can tell when it’s just a false alarm and when something substantial has just occurred. I guessed it was substantial, but not record-setting.
Ian seemed completely unphased by the passing and he’s never really had a major blowout before so I thought I’d get our bags out of my hands and then head to the bathroom to freshen him up. We had plenty of time (thankfully) before boarding.
Five minutes went by and he still seemed fine. My arms were getting tired so I set the bags down on the floor. I happened to brush my hand past his little foot (he was in the baby bjorn).
And, I felt wetness. Wetness.
Not pee wetness but poop wetness–bright yellow and running down his leg and onto his shoe. I checked the other side. It hadn’t made it to his foot yet, but gravity was helping it cruise down to that location quite nicely.
So, I lugged baby, backpack, rolling suitcase and carseat into the bathroom. Praise the Lord it was only a few steps away.
“Freshening him up” included getting him completely naked and wiping his entire body down with baby wipes. A lot of them. They really should install a hose by baby changing tables because sometimes that’s just what you need.
Ian layed there through the whole thing quite content. Again, praise the Lord. Poop everywhere is one thing. A screaming baby rolling around in poop in public is something else entirely.
With fresh duds on we dropped off our bags and headed to security. It was there, while reaching down to take my shoes off, that I discovered I had not come out of the ordeal unscathed. There was bright yellow on the top of my shoe and in various spots down my pants.
They always say to never forget an extra change of clothes. But I thought they meant for the baby. They should clarify that includes parents, too. And, never EVER wear white.
When we made it to the gate Ian started to cry. Too many people and things to look at without a nap was wearing on him. So, there I was wiping the poop of of myself with an upset baby, walking onto the plane.
All the other passengers were standing around, since we parents get to go first. I bet they were wondering what sort of baby hell they were about to endure.
But, like I said, Ian did great. Nothing a boob and a nice warm body to snuggle up to can’t fix. And no more pooping. He had pretty much cleaned himself clear out.
The clothes, well, we’ll see about those. Sorry, Owen, but the threads you lent Ian for a time may not be salvagable. But, judging by your parents reports, I think you can sympathize with your friend . . .
And what’s one more stain on an already spit up and peed on pair of mom’s clothes? If that doesn’t add some literal meaning to my status as a Haggard, I don’t know what does.