I immediately regret this decision

Boys and girls, today you shall hear a story about poor decisions that eventually turned into a good laugh, but at the time were completely traumatizing. But before that plot unfolds let's look at my handsome son sporting a mohawk from an envious daddy. :)







Okay, moving on.

Truman and I flew to Missouri last weekend because my dad had a total hip replacement surgery and I wanted to be there as the one healthcare person in the family (more later). I knew that flying alone with a one year old could potentially cause me to lose my frickin mind but I had to chance it. Nate could not join us because of that pesky 'work/school' stuff. The flight to Missouri was a cake walk because we got upgraded to the very front row---something about extra masks on the other side of the plane so our original seats just would not do? Truman could spread out into his own empty seat next to me and he was a total doll that time around. See?




But the return flight home? Horrid. I'm still exhausted from that little 47 minute trip and vow that I will not fly alone with Truman if I can feasibly avoid it. We boarded the plane and instantly knew that it was a packed flight without the luxury of front row wiggle room this time---I guess I picked the 'right' side for this one, so no seat change for us. As soon as we plopped down Truman turned into a whirling dervish and as his energy level multiplied mine divided. We had a very nice college girl next to us who was understanding of my little heartbreaker's need to touch her sweater, then hair, then nose. Of course, the couple behind us was not spared by his charm as he peeked over the top of my seat multiple times to point and reach and smile like it was his job. 'He's not shy at all, is he?' the woman asked. 'Um, no. Apparently not,' I replied while Truman began to shout 'DA-DA' at the top of his lungs, gesturing to each and every male occupant on the flight. Great. Now my son has about 50 baby daddies according to him, and although everyone just melted over the cuteness of Truman I knew I was in for the long haul.

As soon as we took off I smelled It. 'It' being the most horribly rancid poop of the century wafting out of my entertaining boy's diaper. Perfect timing, of course. I tried to ignore it but the stench was making me a paranoid mama, wondering if all Truman's new found buddies would cast him aside for being the stinky, white-trash kid who poops his pants and sits in it for too long. I glanced around nervously to see if anyone was plugging their nose yet and decided that a trip to the plane bathroom was simply unavoidable. I couldn't stand it any longer so I grabbed a diaper and some wipes and bumper car'd our way back to the 'bathroom'. I swear to you I got the evil eye from the passenger next to the room as if to say, 'You aren't really going to try THAT, are you?' Oh yes. I was.

We stepped into the stall and I'm pretty sure the walls started closing in on us both. Or maybe that was just because it was the tiniest bathroom known to mankind and my arms were practically pinned to my side. I was a determined woman at this point and decided just to peek into the diaper-of-despair to assess the damage before I committed to the ordeal. I put the toilet lid down and took a seat, laying my slippery one year old on my lap as if he was a newborn (ha!). As soon as I pulled the diaper to the side I knew I had to remove the abomination from his skin or else I would certainly be guilty of child neglect. That thing was simply taking over his backside and it must.go.now.

And so, I took a deep breath and began the removal process. As soon as I got the battered diaper off Truman decided enough was enough and simply could not remain on my lap any longer---and I really don't blame him since his head was hanging off my knees and his neck was bent backwards rushing the blood to his little brain. I tried to hurry and wipe his caked crack but failed and had to surrender to his need to stand up on my lap. I'm guessing this is about the time that the poop particles rubbed against my shirt sleeve but I cannot remember the details because all I could think about was how I should not have done this at all.

'I immediately regret this decision' was seriously something I said out loud. Then I started to sweat and almost started crying as I pictured my crap-covered son returning to his seat without any diaper or pants on his little body because his mom just couldn't handle the pressure in the miniature bathroom on the plane. As I stared into Truman's adorable but poopy butt crack I knew I had to buck up and get the job done. I started to wipe as much out of the crack as I could and returned him to my lap, promising him one million dollars if he'd just sit still for mama one more time.

I unraveled toilet paper and generously offered him limitless amounts for entertainment. I started singing some deranged song hoping to calm the little poop monster. And finally once I had him semi-wiped down I allowed him to return to standing on my lap and applied a new diaper as best I could. Putting on a clean diaper while a baby is standing up on your lap, and your arms cannot move more than 2 inches to the side without banging into airplane walls is pretty much the crown jewel of motherhood if you ask me. I have walked through fire and survived and therefore I can embrace my title of 'mommy' from here on out.

After I snapped together his onesie and wrangled his pants back on, I doused my hands in sanitizer and walked through that teeny folding door with my head held high. Sure, we were in there for about 20 minutes, I looked like a tornado struck my face, and now I smelled like poop since it was smeared on my shirt but whatever. At least my baby didn't have a poopy butt and could return to his friends without the 'dirty kid' persona.

I intercepted him from licking every single surface on the plane (ooh, look! a germ-infested arm rest! Must eat now!) in order to prevent an outbreak of rabies in our home and can only hope that he didn't ingest a major debilitating disease despite my efforts. At the end of the flight I stopped swiping his hands with sani-wipes every minute and admitted defeat. There's only so much energy one mom can carry, you know?

When we finally landed I praised God for letting us survive. I informed Nate of our little bathroom escapade and explained that if he smelled a rancid stench, it must be my shirt. Then I promptly showered as soon as we entered our home and tried to scrub away the poo and the plane and sweat on my brow.

Flying alone with a one year old is no freaking joke. And never, ever attempt to change a dirty diaper in a plane bathroom. Lesson learned.

So the trip itself was a success: dad did fabulous in surgery and also in therapy at the hospital. I had to snap at least one pic of him with his PT---a kindred soul of mine and of course we traded PT stories like old chums by the end of dad's stay.


I helped him get settled in at home and he was a 'fair' patient of mine. A little non-compliant at times, always pushing the rules, but at least he was feeling good enough to give me trouble!


He is recovering even better than I expected and I'm sure he will continue to feel better and better with time. I know it's going to be hard for him to stay off the golf course until the doc clears him in about 4-6 weeks but I hope he follows orders----or his PT daughter will be back down there to kick his rear in gear! I'm sure mom can handle him from this point on, though. She was happy I was there to help ease them into the recovery process and I'm so glad we could make the trip, too.

Memaw and Pepaw came to visit a bit and T got even more spoiled with his great-grandparents there.


He was obsessed with my parents' TV, DVD player, and cable box. And with his knee socks. :)


Probably my new favorite picture ever. Note the dimple and the teeth. Cannot.stand.it!


New favorite hobby = the touchdown sign! :)


Peace, dudes.


Loves his grandma.


And is also very dramatic with his facial expressions.

So that is that. A great trip despite the eventful flight home. You have to learn as you go, I suppose!

Anyone else ever changed a baby in a plane bathroom? If so, you are my hero.

Side note: I am starting a new job tomorrow so wish me luck! Same stuff but a different company and I'm a little nervous for some reason. It will probably just be three days per week although I stayed on with my previous employer for my half day on Thursdays, too. Ideally if I could drop that half day and just do three days in a week I think I'd be completely satisfied with my career/mommy balance in life so we'll see how this works out. Either way, it's nice to have options in this economy and I really do enjoy my career part of life. End of side note. Carry on.