Brad, if Angelina can do this without a nanny, she's a catch...if not, my number is area code...
by Shauna Struessel
There are very few times, as an adult, when it is at all appropriate to discuss human waste; in fact, the only two that spring to mind, are tales of toddler calamity and a raw sewage spill (the thought of which makes me a little queasy). Any mom who has dealt with underage diarrhea in the grocery store with a full shopping cart knows the dread that occurs when poop goes public.
Last summer, Sloan and I met my mom for breakfast at McDonalds. Mom and I chatted and laughed while Sloan amused herself in the play yard. I stopped short in the middle of my egg sandwich at the ominous sound of a squeegee on damp plastic. In slo-mo Flo-Jo mode I ran to the slide and grabbed Sloan by the ankle as she headed back up and pulled her back. As I lifted my baby, I noticed that her pants, that had started the day as green, were now the color of mud. I realized, to my dismay, that my diaper bag had no change of clothes, no wipes and no plastic bag. Never fear, mommies in panic, I didn't watch five years of MacGyver and walk away with nothing. I asked three college guys (who got an invaluable lesson in abstinence) to watch my breakfast, begged my mom to RUN to Wal-Mart and pick out anything in Sloan's size (or even close), snatched my woefully depleted diaper bag in one hand and my daughter, who reeked of rotten Spam, in the other, and headed to the bathroom. I had my super mommy shtick in high gear.
Once inside, I heard the Mission Impossible theme song playing in my head, which thankfully drowned out the Muzak version of Muskrat Love piped in over the less than sparkling toilets. I grabbed a dozen paper towels and doused them in warm water, emptied a Ziploc bag of snacks and hoisted Sloan onto the wobbly, plastic changing table. I changed my baby, used the snack bag to throw away the offending diaper, washed her pants in the sink and dried them under the hand drier. I carried Sloan back into the play area at McDonald's with my head held high. MacGyver had nothing on me.
They say necessity is the mother of invention, but if the truth is exposed, panic in the McDonald's bathroom trumps necessity every time. I keep this story in my memory's trophy case. That morning, I made Rambo and The Terminator look like weenies, they had guns and muscles; I battled public poo with no supplies and emerged victorious. I rock.
Boise City News