Thursday, August 09, 2012
A POO STORY (or, "The Joys of Being a Grandma")
It was August of last year that my husband and I were at the home improvement store with our two-year-old granddaughter. She had suffered a bout of diarrhea the past few days but we thought she was on the road to recovery, so we didn’t think too much about it when we set off on our little shopping trip. We were enjoying walking around with her, letting her explore the merchandise, when suddenly we heard, “SQUIRRRRRTTTTT!” I thought, “Oh no. And I didn’t bring a diaper or wipes!” So I took her into the larger handicapped stall, pulled down the changing pad, hoisted her up onto it, and inspected the damage. It was pretty bad. Luckily the toilet paper was within reach, so I held onto her with my left hand while grabbing wads of toilet tissue with my right hand, wiping her bottom and flinging the whole gooey mess across the room into the toilet. As is common with store toilet tissue, it was very thin and I had to keep pulling and pulling to get enough, and even then, it melted into nothingness as soon as it hit moisture. The diaper was still pretty soggy but I did the best I could. Then I folded up a huge wad of toilet paper, put it over her butt, re-fastened the diaper, flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and we continued shopping. I told Grandpa of our ordeal. It was so comical we had to laugh. Of course I cleaned her up better when we got home.
Cut to July 2012, less than a year later, and my husband and I are in the same home improvement store with our now fully potty-trained granddaughter and her 8-month old brother. I had been assured that Grandson’s bowel movements were already taken care of that morning and that there would be no need for the diaper bag. I did, however, have an emergency diaper I always keep in the car. I had learned that much. Well imagine our surprise when we smelled that old familiar aroma wafting out of his little behind. “Oh no,” I said. “I have a diaper this time, but no wipes!” We got the diaper and headed toward the bathroom.
“Why don’t YOU change him?” I said to Grandpa. “He’s a boy, you’re a boy; you can go into the boy’s bathroom!”
“I’M not changing him,” Grandpa replied. “YOU do it!”
Sigh. Okay. So I carried heavy 20+ pound Grandson into the stall, pulled down the changing pad and inspected the damage. I was hoping it would be a nicely-formed chunk, but no, it was all gooey and green and even up his back. I unfolded the new diaper and put it at his feet. Then I held his legs up in the air with my left hand while pulling out wads of the usual totally inadequate toilet paper with my right hand, wiping his little butt and depositing it in the dirty diaper. I couldn’t help but remember last year’s episode. At least there was no poo-flinging this time. I did, however, have to make sure Baby Boy didn’t spray me (or himself or the wall). He was also wiggling and fussing, uncomfortable that Grandma was tightly holding his legs up in the air so long, and I had to try and keep his hands away from his behind and his feet out of the used diaper.
After wiping as best I could, I quickly put the clean diaper on his residue-laden butt before he decided to make wee-wee, hoisted him up and carried him to the sink. I laid him down on the counter to wash my hands and noticed that there was some stain on his leg. There were no paper towels, and I couldn’t just leave him lying at the sink, so I had to carry him to the nearest stall and grab more toilet paper, carry him back to the sink, wet the toilet paper and wipe his leg and then carry him to the waste basket to throw it out. I repeated this several times, soon breaking a sweat. I then stuffed a wad of tissue under the elastic that looked like there was a stain on it. He laid there looking up at me and grinning. I could just hear him thinking, “This is fun, Grandma!” I grinned back at his cute, beaming little face.
Then I rinsed my hands and wanted to dry them but there were only those hand-blowers and I didn’t want to have to hold this heavy baby while using it, and also I was afraid the noise might scare him, so I just picked him up with my wet fingers and lugged him back out to the cart and continued shopping. I told Grandpa all about our adventure, and again, it was so comical we had to laugh. When we arrived home, I handed him to Mommy and advised her to hose him down.
Moral of the story: Always bring a diaper AND wipes. Always. And no matter what happens, remember how fun it is to be a grandma. I love it, poo and all.