Poop.

I had one of those epic motherhood experiences where it’s terrible in the moment but you realize you might laugh about it one day. Of course it involves poop. It always involves poop. My husband and older son were celebrating Oma’s 90th birthday in Germany and I was home with my little guy for a week. Forever the optimist, I was looking forward to this first-ever 1:1 time and making it the best week ever. The very opposite happened. The first few days were filled with so many meltdowns, so many impossible arguments and standoffs that only a toddler can master. But I made it to the weekend where I could fill our days with friends and the park.

First up was a trip down to Redondo Beach to meet a friend I hadn’t seen in a while and her new baby. Amongst other things, I packed outfit changes for potty accidents and many snack options for every mood and whim. We were at an amazing park, sitting on a park bench, gabbing and laughing as he showed off his fancy scooter skills going around and around. It was perfect! I got to catch up with a friend and he got to scoot and play. But I thought I noticed that maybe his pants were wet. I couldn’t get him to stop so I could check. Finally I talked him into going to the restroom. When we got there I noticed that yep, he had already released his bladder entirely into his pants. As I stripping them off, guess what else was there? Yep, you guessed it. POOP. Lots of soft and messy poop that found itself going everywhere like only poop can. Peeling his clothes off was like a fine-tuned archeology excavation. And that’s when I realized how big and clean and well-stocked this public restroom at the park was! But I wouldn’t leave it that way. Because more poop was coming. He usually violently rejects toilet seat covers so thankfully I won that argument this time. But when I lifted him up off the toilet, allllllll of the poop was on the seat and porcelin rim. Nothing went where it was supposed to go. It was all over him too. I didn’t bring wipes. I didn’t bring extra clothes. So there we were — using gobs of tp to wipe him, wipe the toilet and wrap his undies to make a more discreet toss into the trash. And yet he still wasn’t entirely free of the poop, I could NOT get it off all areas. I thought of wrapping him up in my jacket to bring him back to the car for a clean up. But then I’d be cold and I really didn’t want to leave yet. If I carried him, more poop would be on me and my clothing which didn’t sound like a sanitary or pleasant way to be in the car for an hour on the way home. His pants were soaked so I couldn’t get those back on. And his tee and sweater were also soiled. Socks and shoes also wet. The bathroom was too far away for me to yell to my friend to come help me. So after many rapid scans in my brain I said “welp, we’re gonna have to scoot out of here naked back to where we can get you cleaned up.” And he agreed! Happily, I might add. My older son would never have done this. So we put his shoes back on and walked out of there with his helmet still on his head on and he strolled out fully naked into a public park.

The first person we saw was an old man. Of course we’d see a potential predator right off the bat. Then he scooted across the basketball court and to the playground. Straight out of The Goonies, kids atop the play structure were pointing and screaming with laughter telling all of their friends to look. Suddenly, this situation took a turn from a story that would one day be funny to something that might scar him forever. We made a quick diversion to go the long way around the grass to get back to our spot while I secretly flipped those kids the bird. Back at our spot, I wrapped up the poopy clothes and got him into clean pants and a jacket. Problem averted? Not quite. Two more accidents happened and I blew through my outfit changes faster than I ever knew I would. And our playdate came to an abrupt halt.

Back at the car, guess what? Yep, more poop. But I didn’t notice until we were already ensconced in the middle seats of the car. Toddler syndrome — aka feral animal mode — kicked in as he rolled into the middle seat, then his brother’s car seat, the floor and his own car seat. There was a lot of screaming. There was a lot of poop. Somehow we made it home, got him in the bath and called a car detail service. They came, they cleaned, they charged extra for the car seats. I was just relieved we survived. But the next day as I was carrying the freshly cleaned car seats back to the car, I grabbed one of the straps for leverage when I thought “wtf smells so bad” then wondered what I was feeling on my hands. Of course it was more of The Poop. They hadn’t gotten deep into the car seat and more was smashed up in there. Lucky me! At this point I gave up, pushed the car seats away and didn’t use them again until my husband came home.

The End.

The moral of the story? Always bring wipes. Bring more clothes than you think you’ll need. Have a car detailer (who is preferably a parent and not afraid of poop) on speed dial. And never, ever let your husband leave you alone with a toddler for a week ever again. Also, to the person who had to clean up the remnants of the mess we left, I am so very sorry. I hope you know I tried and did my best. And thanks for such an amazing public restroom with soap, water, toilet paper and a trash can. I can’t imagine what would have happened without this.

I wish I took more pictures. I thought of it. I just didn’t have an extra hand and didn’t want poop on my phone.