Brother, Can You Spare a Dime (or make that a quarter)?

My first mistake was thinking that just one day after returning from vacation, it would be wise to haul my giant pregnant belly and two boys through Ikea on a warm, sunny day. I'd like to say that I won't be so bone-headed again, but you and I both know I will. And so the story begins...

One day after returning from vacation, I started to have wave #1 (of about 400..) of "Oh my gosh, this baby is coming and we are not prepared!" panic attacks. What else would drive me to be such a masochist and lug my belly and two small children through a store the size of a small country? My abs are so weak, they are almost transparent and I grow babies that could pass as sumo wrestlers, so carrying this massive belly around ceases to be a thing of comfort. But as many a woman will tell you, when this panic sets in, so does biological forces beyond our control that super cede any logic. Guys have these moments too, but they don't involve preparing for babies, it involves making babies...

So I loaded the kids up convinced that I had to cross a few items and chores off my lengthy to do list and well, I would try and make it fun along the way. Ice cream after check-out was promised. Don't even judge, every parent HAS to use bribery at some point. Everything in life involves getting some benefit out of some unwanted task, it's what makes the world work. So, everything was going well. I grabbed my purse and we were on our way. Everything was going very well, until we hit the food area.

My boys were being great, not asking for anything (major score) and didn't mind keeping my mind-numbingly slow pace (I was actually trying to speed walk us through the store, but my speed walk nowadays is more like the speed of paint drying). I grabbed us some grub and we were enjoying a nice lunch together. My sons have two completely different taste palates, and my younger son is much like my husband in his total carnivore nature. He was enjoying some Swedish meatballs when I noticed a glob of gravy on his pants. He said, "Uh oh, mommy." "No big deal, T, it's just gravy, let me wipe it up." "No, mommy is die-uh-ee-ah". "Oh no, T, it's just gravy." I dismissed his comment because he had been calling everything poop since our neighbor started letting their nasty dog defecate over anything not moving. "Here, T, let me wipe that up." I tried to use my napkin but noticed that stain wasn't on TOP of the pants, but seeping up from UNDERNEATH it." "Um, T, I think you're right, this isn't gravy." "No momma, this is die-uh-ee-ah". Oh shit.

So I think, no problem, I've dealt with public poopings a millions times with my boys and I can handle the runny stuff. As my son starting to walk towards the bathrooms, I saw a lovely sight. There was poop running out of his pant legs and onto his shoes. I was in some trouble. To put it nicely. We went over to the family restroom so that I could have access to a changing table and some space. I opened the door to find a woman changing her newborns diaper. So, I waited politely by the door. Five minutes passed. My son was starting to whine that the poop "was going everywhere!" and my older son was whining that "T smells like a sewer mom, come on!" I opened the door to see what the hold up was, and the woman was STILL changing the damn diaper. Five more minutes passed. Lady, this is a newborn who isn't eating solids yet, this isn't a difficult task, if it takes you this long to change an itty bitty diaper, you are in TROUBLE as the years roll on. Move it! I opened the door again to let her know I had a crisis on my hands and kept saying loudly, "Hold on, T, I know you're COVERED IN POOP but as soon as this nice lady is done we can clean you up." Five more long, agonizing minutes passed before she came out. She had that "new mom" look that told me she had yet to experience a crisis with a child that can walk and talk. So we entered the bathroom...

I thought, okay, no biggie, lets get in, change the diaper, change his clothes and be on our way. I opened up my bag and noticed the first of my Major Fail Trinity. I didn't pack any diapers. Fudge. Okay, no biggie again, I can get him cleaned up and them put on pants and we can just get out of here because I knew I had diapers in the car. Let me just grab the wipes... Um, nope. Okay, I will use wet paper towels, as long as I have some pants or shorts, we will be okay. Of course, that would be a negative because I was sucking in the mom department that day. F**K!!!!!! At this point, my son was on the table, and he had diarrhea all the way down his legs, soaked into his pants, covering his shoes and up his BACK! And I didn't have a single diaper, wipe or change of clothes. Okay, I had to think fast. First, I wet a mountain of paper towels and gave this kid the worst sponge bath of his life. Every article of clothing was covered in feces so these were removed. I found a diaper dispensing machine and thought, woohoo! Only problem is that it required $1 in quarters and I only had THREE QUARTERS! I don't carry cash and I was hating myself and my ATM laziness and this moment. I keep all my change in the car for tips and the like in drive-thrus. Okay, no diaper and no clothes and a walk the length of seven football fields to my car... I had my older son watch T and I ran out to get help. I needed it.

I found the janitor who gave me a garbage bag for my son's toxic clothing, awesome. I went to the children's play area and asked if they happened to have diapers. Nope. Next question, can I borrow a quarter for the diaper machine? Nope. I was frantic. I approached four different parents asking if they had an extra diaper or a quarter. I felt humbled and they made me feel even worse. Each one responded no. Really? A parent can't help another parent out? I'm asking for a diaper, not a cigarette and tequila shot to soothe my pregnant nerves! Okay, I was screwed. I returned back to the room with no real solution. I could feel the judgement of a dozen moms thinking, "Really, you already have two kids and you can't even pack a damn diaper? You think you're qualified for a third?" Ugh.

My only option was to leave my kid bare bottomed and dress him in my black zip-up, hooded fleece. I had no options! So as my son asked me, "why I wear a dress, mommy?" (my fleece was huge on him), the only thing I could do was laugh. He was clean and at least his butt was covered to get us out the door. Now, a sane woman would abandon her cart and head for the door, but as we already established, I was preggo-crazed so I grabbed my cart and was determined to check-out.

T walked along. My older son and I kept giggling because he looked like a little Harry Potter in my black fleece, "cloak". He was darn cute. He looked like Harry Potter, but with an incredible flatulence problem. The diarrhea was caused by some intestinal warfare his body was battling and the farts that followed were some of the aftermath. As we were walking, he was ripping out insanely LOUD farts. Without a diaper or clothes to muffle his butt, it truly sounded like I had stuck a microphone between his cheeks to amplify his toots. And after each fart, he would giggle and ask, "who burnt the cookies?". People around us, didn't find this so cute. His farts weren't cute, they were loud, gross, and frat-boy quality.

To add to this mess, each time he cut one, he lifted the "cloak" and said, "gotta air out my tushy and penis!" Can you imagine? People were looking at me, #1, wondering why my son was wearing a hooded dress (20 sizes too big)#2 why his ass was so loud and #2 why he kept flashing his bits and pieces. The only option I had was to carry him and push the cart and lug my belly at the same time. We got to the check-out, I put T standing up in the main section of the cart and thought we were in the clear. That is until, his farts returned and he starting yelling, "More die-uh-ee-ahh is coming MOM!". He had no diaper or pants to contain the upcoming slosh and was standing over the metal grates of the cart. Holy Moly. I sat him down and grabbed my older son by the hand, whispered a prayer to the constipation Gods and ran like hell. My belly was bouncing so hard I'm surprised that it didn't bounce up and knock me out. We made it just back to the car in time for a new diaper for the second wave of the trots to unleash. JUST IN TIME. Of course, in our mad dash out of the door, we didn't get the ice cream, like I promised. But no ice-cream is better than cleaning up the runs off the concrete floor of the food court.

I felt awful. I forgot the basics as a mom of a toddler, diaper, wipes and a change of clothes. Ugh, I was feeling low. Felt low that is, until I cranked the music and we sang and bopped around silly our whole way home. At the stop light off the freeway, we saw a man looking for some money for food. My older son asked, "Mommy, he looks hungry. Do you think other people make him feel bad like those people made you feel when you asked for a quarter?" Hmm, good question, let's help him out. We emptied out all of the change we had, rolled down the window and son asked if he could give it to him. He even wished the guy, "Good luck, Mister, I hope people are being nice to you. " As as we drove away, I knew I wasn't such a bad mom. My kids are good kids and so what if we have to walk through a chain store half naked with a belly full of gas every now and then?