Warning: there is talk of poop here. Read at your own risk.
I have been known to rant about toilet training here (where I canceled naps. I canceled naps? I must have been delirious). Or here (where, theoretically, the older kid is supposedly trained yet I felt compelled to document the ongoing saga). I’m sure there are other places but frankly, I’m too pooped to go look for backlinks now. (ha)
Today. While I was out shopping for shoes with a cranky toddler, she finally decided that now was the time to poop in her pull-up.
And we’re not talking about a regular, normal poop. The kind she had is the kind that should remain private in a home with only close relatives around, and should be made either into toilets, or disposable diapers.
Certainly not into pull-ups. In public stores. With tonnes of sales on if you purchase multiple pairs of shoes. For which you have no time.
I knew she had to go. I’ve known since 6 am. She had ample opportunity for hours to go. But no, she had to go while I was buying these:
Thankfully, the potty training gods, or maybe it was the shoe gods, were watching over me. Because of course that ziplock bag with pull-ups and wet-wipes that I keep in the trunk, which I’ve been meaning to replenish, did have one last pull-up left in it, and what’s more important, the wet-wipe container had four still somewhat wet wipes in it as well.
Because it was one of those diapers…you know?
So I left the store with one pair of shoes instead of two. I tried to be polite to the friendly and rather chatty sales girl who was trying to converse with me about the weather while Sonja smelled to high heavens. Sonja tried to push the button on the handicap door, push her stroller while looking down instead of up, and almost fell off the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic while the girl kept talking to me. She was doing her job, after all, and tried to give me some encouragement to return within a week because she would then give me an additional discount since I wasn’t purchasing multiple pairs of shoes today. She was even trying to engage Sonja in conversation. And all I could think about during this endless chatter was whether there was wipes, diapers and hand sanitizer in the car.
Clearly the girl was not a mom of a toddler.