I think every mom has that one story that really just tops them all. The gross of the gross. The one where you wonder what you did to deserve this disgusting fate.
Mine happened yesterday. The entire Johnson family had spent the week in Hilton Head for Fall Break and had an amazing time. The drive up was surprisingly easy with a 3 month old and a 3 year old, so I should have known it was the calm before the storm.
About three hours away from home on the ten plus hour trip back, we pulled over to get a bite to eat and for me to feed Simon, aka Cy Baby, our three month old.
We entered a nice little subway in Murfreesboro, TN. I sat down at a table with Cy and started feeding him his bottle. My husband Logan got in line to order for us. My three year old Henry was sitting across from me – still wearing his rocket ship pajamas and bright orange Natives at 3 pm. We had given him a bag of cheesy poofs as a peace offering for the ride. He was taking one cheesy poof at a time, sitting it on the table, stabbing it with the leg of a transformer figurine, and placing it in his mouth. He’s one of a kind.
I looked a hot mess in my leggings, tunic and top knot. I wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup and I was exhausted.
Halfway thru his bottle, I put Simon on my shoulder the burp him. He projectile spit up onto the floor behind us.
Then I felt him fart. It was very loud and forceful. Then my hand on the small of his back felt a little wet.
Uh oh. Blowout.
I grabbed the diaper bag and ran to the restroom.
Dear Subway – please put changing tables in your bathrooms. Thanks.
I grabbed a million paper towels and a burp cloth and laid him on the floor. He farted again with such force I’m surprised his footie pajamas didn’t fly off his tiny body.
I took off his pajamas as he laid on the floor and screamed bloody murder. They were beyond saving. The diaper was oozing. I’ll spare the details but five minutes, a sacrificed pair of footed pajamas, 875 wipes and a new diaper and onesie later, I had a clean happy baby.
Finally, I could use the restroom! I did the whole put your baby on your shoulder while squatting over the toilet and trying not to drop him on his head thing. You know about this one moms.
As I was in my squatting position I heard the worst noise ever. He spit up. All over me. My shirt was soaked. At the same time he farted again. My hand that was holding him was wet. Again.
Sweet baby Jesus, please help me.
I managed to pull my leggings back up with one hand while holding him on my shoulder, make a new makeshift changing table on the floor for my gassy poop filled child, and laid him down. We lost another outfit. This one was a gray onesie with a dinosaur on it. RIP.
He started screaming bloody murder again and five minutes later, 642 wipes and a new diaper, I had a happy baby. I got up, picked up my poor child, washed my hands and looked in the mirror.
Holy shit, I was a mess. My shirt was completely soaked from the spit up. Somehow I had managed to get some poop on my cheek. My top knot had fallen to the side. If I didn’t know me, I would have felt pure sympathy for that sad tired woman with a screaming baby.
I got the poop off my cheek and headed back to the dining room. Logan looked at me with a very concerned look on his face. I don’t know if it was because my shirt was wet, my topknot was sideways or that he could hear our child screaming for 15 minutes.
I gave him an abbreviated version of the story just in time for our three year old to spill an entire cup of milk all over the floor.
That’s when I realized it was time to go. I ended up eating my sub in the car.
So I’d like to apologize for the havoc my family brought upon you, Subway in Murfreesboro. I hope whoever took out the trash in the women’s bathroom did not vomit.
And please get a changing table.
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