So I was reading my sister blog about her baby daughter’s poop issues, and as I was commenting on her blog, I was reminded of this story. And since it’s in the spirit of Halloween and all, I thought I would scare you all big time. Hmm... Maybe I’ll title this blog Birth Control. LOL!
When my oldest son was a baby he had the strangest habit of only pooping once a week. And what an explosion it was! Seriously nasty! Thank goodness I breastfed the baby! I cannot begin to imagine what formula fed-once-a-week-poop would’ve been like! ACK! Well, because it was once a week, we had it down to a science. On Sunday evenings we knew to watch out! Literally. Some nights the lil’ pumpkin would spend hours in an empty bathtub playing with his toys. We lived in Phoenix. It was warm. We could do this. At the very least he spent his evening on a towel and had yucky old clothes on. I cannot begin to tell you how many outfits this tyke went through before we caught on it was on a certain day! LOL! I did mention he was my first right? So onto the story…
There we were—my hubby and I--on a normal Saturday afternoon minding our own very unsuspecting business. --So we happened to be in an airplane travelling home from Florida. And never mind the fact that we paid extra, to fly on a Saturday, so we wouldn’t have to deal with our son's lovely Sunday eruption as we travelled home. Oh no, seriously, it was no big deal when we first caught wind of his erm… windiness—that first sign he gave us that we were about to really regret bringing him with us at all. I mean, it’s cool. Mark and I were both adults. We’d had our son a whole 7 months by then and were definitely experts in the art of babycare. What we couldn’t depend upon was the reactions of the people around us!
Oh, to be a fly on the wall when my hubby and I both panicked and realized our little sweet cherub was about to turn the happy narrow airplane into a scene from a horror film. And then it happened. Just like that. Quicker than usual. Just as my hubby was reaching down to grab the diaper bag so I could flee to the bathroom—my son giggled once and then the volcano detonated. Large quantities of squishy orange-greenish mass shot out of the back of my son’s diaper, and up and out of the top of his onesie and shirt, down the ends of his cute little overalls and all over us. I mean, ALL OVER US. And the seat. And the back of the seat in front of us. And the window. We were a mess. We were a huge mess. A huge, nasty, scary, groady, mess.
As quickly as I could, I unfastened my slimy seat belt, grabbed the coated diaper bag and headed for the itty bitty bathroom. Except there was one flaw here. One small flaw. Okay, two (There was no changing table in the bathroom, so I had to work in front of it in the aisle, on the floor) but the one I’m referring to, was one very feminine gay male flight attendant who thought it expedient to scream in shock and horror when he first beheld me and my son coming towards him. Now the other flight attendants were all mothers and absolutely wonderful! And amazingly efficient in helping me. It’s just the one guy—girl wannabe—I could have cheerfully strangled with my dirty hands had he slowed down long enough for me to get at him.
But no, I wasn’t that lucky! The man literally ran up and down the aisle screaming the Lord’s name in terror, arms flailing wildly in the air from side to side as he ran. Now if that wasn’t enough each time he would get to the front of the plane, he would--I don’t know think to himself he could help?—and then come tearing back down the aisle to see me try and take care of the mess. This repeated at least three times. So helpful. You have no idea.
Now I don’t know about you, but the second someone starts gagging that’s it for me. I tell you, I’m gagging to. This was not the time for that man—on his latest run back down the aisle--to start gagging and fluttering his hands about, looking like some demented chicken! I was barely hanging in there as it was! Was there no professionalism here people? Don’t they train you to be able to handle all kinds of emergencies? For crying out loud!
Needless to say, I lost it. Yes, under pressure with a poopy baby, stinky airplane, no room to deal with it, and a whole slew of travelers positive I was hijacking the plane and gonna kill them all! Yes, at that moment I wanted to condemn every gay man that thought a woman would ever look that stupid.
“Will you knock it off??? PLEASE! Seriously! Do you see me? Do you? I’m a woman! Yes! ME! You know why, I know this? I gave birth to this monster, okay!?! And let me tell you, I have never acted as demented as you are right now! Now suck it up! If you think you’re gonna pass in this world as a woman, then boy you better stop acting like a MAN and Deal WITH THIS as a WOMAN would!”
So he was a little huffy when he stormed off. At least the screaming, flailing, running and gagging stopped. And just for the record, I do have a heart… Much later as we were leaving the plane and I saw him sniffling and wiping his eyes in the corner, I did apologize. Not that he acknowledged me. In fact he stubbornly turned his head away. But, hey, I tried, right? Sheez!