Before I had kids, I would hear the term blowouts and I would think about getting my hair done. I would count down the days until my hair appointment, and when I was finally there, I would take a deep breath and relax in the chair. When my hair looked good, I felt good.
When you have babies, people don’t really prepare you for the messes. The mess that will be your hair, the mess that will be your house, the mess that will be your emotions, and the diapers. Oh, the messy diapers. It still stuns me to this day what can come out of such a small, delicate baby.
After my middle guy Johnny was born, I had finally gotten used to the messy blowout diapers. I knew what to expect, brought three extra baby outfits wherever I went, packed extra wipes, plastic bags to use for the dirty diapers (doggie bags work great), and even extra clothes for myself. I even had a beach sized towel in my car. I was accustomed to the stink, the mess, all of it. There were times when it even got on my hands and in between laughing, screaming, and trying not to puke, I managed to handle it with no real hiccups.
After Johnny turned about three months old, I had had enough of sitting in the house and being stuck with my obsessive postpartum anxiety…blog post to follow! I knew I needed to wash my hair and get out! My husband John took the little guy while I had some uninterrupted shower time. I did my hair and put on an outfit that I felt decent in . I mean, I kinda felt like a complete stuffed sausage in it, and if I sat down, my pants would definitely bust open. But that wasn’t stopping me, I was going to dinner. John, the kids and I decided to meet my family at a restaurant not too far from home. It was my first real outing since I had the baby. I was so excited that I even threw on some heels and put on mascara. Even baby Johnny was looking sharp in his baby khakis with complimentary suspenders. We were good to go.
We arrived at the restaurant and sat down. There was warm bread on the table and I had decided to order a glass of wine. I took a breath and sank down in my chair to relax and enjoy. Johnny was still in his car seat at the this point, but I decided that he should have some fun and get to hang out with the family and enjoy his time. It’s not everyday that he gets to see his mom in real clothes without puke in her hair. I lifted him up and snuggled him mid air, so happy in the moment. I told myself that things were getting better, getting easier. He was laughing and smiling and we both knew that we were on the right track on this new journey.
I placed Johnny on my lap and proceeded to drink my wine. It was cold and refreshing and exactly what I needed in that moment. As I began to check out the menu, Johnny let out a huge fart. Well, I thought it was a fart and laughed it off. We all commented on how it was so loud and how he was such a chunky monkey who loved to eat and fart. As we were all giggling about our little gas monster, I felt something warm. I looked down at my lap and to my horror saw a huge brown stain. Oh my God. This kid just pooped his pants. Even worse, it went fully through his khakis, his diaper, and now all over my clothes. Panic set in. How could I leave? People would stare. People would laugh. Normally, I make jokes and talk my way out of things, but this was beyond repair. It was so disgusting and definitely not what people wanted to see while eating. I told my family what had happened and their mouths dropped. I quickly grabbed the baby who was placed in front of my own poopy stained pants and ran out of the restaurant. No explanation, no anything. I was out of there. Luckily, my husband thought quickly and grabbed Reagan and met me outside. He looked at me with such sadness but I know he wanted to laugh. He said that he was sorry my night got ruined and that he knew how much I had been looking forward to getting out.
I definitely went home and cried in the shower. And I didn’t go back to that restaurant for almost two years. Could I have handled it better? Maybe? But motherhood is like that. Moments come up out of nowhere and you’re literally in the shit of it. I’ve come a long way since that day. I learned to not sweat the small stuff, to laugh about things and brush them off as best as I can, and to not take life so seriously. It’s worked so far, but I still pack extra clothes for my kids, and always keep doggie bags in my car. You just never know.
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