Writer's Workshop: Locked and Loaded

I chose the Writing Prompt "Locked Out" from Mama Kat's prompts this week.

Once upon a time, there was a Mommy who was ultra prepared, all the time. In her car at all times, she had bendy straws, cut shorter and stored in a travel toothbrush holder (for those restaurants without kiddie cups, or without bendy straws (so the kid wouldn't have to tip the cup horizontally to get the straw into the mouth!)) She had not only a change of clothes (in warm/long sleeve AND cool/short sleeve) for the child, but also a spare shirt and pants for herself! Just in case. Changing pad, diapers, swim diapers, sun block, sun hats for herself and child, swim suit, small pail with sand toys, sweater for child, umbrella, rain coat, wipes, extra wipes, tossable sippy cups and toddler utensils, plastic plate and bowl, bib, disposable stick-on placemats, emergency juice box and snack baggies. Plus a few books and toys, of course. You name it, she had it. 

Fat lot of good it all did her, locked in the car.

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So I'm visiting my OB/Gyn for [something most of you probably aren't interested in hearing about, and really has nothing to do with the rest of the story.] I have my 18-month-old with me, since I've found that it's easier to just drag her along than make her cry for a few hours with a sitter. Plus it teaches her that not all doctor appointments involve shots! Her anxiety level about seeing her own doctor went down drastically once I started bringing her with me to the eye doctor, my OB/Gyn (aka "pooter doctor") and my GP (who happens to also be her doctor, since he's a Family Practitioner. I don't take her to the dentist, since I can't hold her or talk to her, so we'd just all be miserable.) I decide not to drag the whole diaper bag in, since it has enough supplies to support a family of 5, I had just changed her diaper before going in, and she already pooped the day before. [She normally poops every other day, which is kind of nice for me.]

Tra la la. Off we go. So I'm sitting on a paper sheet, wearing a paper gown, feeling a chilly draft up under my paper "blanket" waiting for my doc to come in. And then... a look of intense concentration. She turns away from me. PbbBBBbBlllt! PBbbBBbbBblllt! Sploot sploot! I watch as her diaper bottom literally balloons out, cartoon-style. I see the brown stain spreading up her back and down her legs. No. Effing. Way. Oh, yes way. 

I get paper burn on my bum as I slide off the table to get to my clothes to whip out my cell phone and call the front desk to see how much longer my doc's gonna be - do I have time to go out to my car and change her? Oh, very yes. The doctor would appreciate it. Okay. No problem. 

Clothes back on, child in HazMat carrying hold (my hands under her armpits, holding her as far away from my body as possible,) out the door, down the hall, out the building, up 4 flights of stairs to the parking garage... Really? REALLY? Every single human on the planet has to stop me along the way and tell me how cute my child is? NOW?

Finally out at my locked car... where I see the keys taunting me on my seat. Pressing my nose to the glass, they are less than two-feet away from my face.

You gotta be kidding me.

Nope. Oh gawd. Well, the office is located in a hospital, so I could probably go to the pediatrics area and pay them $50 for a diaper... Oh wait! Luckily, luckily, I recently locked myself out of my car [What? Shocker!] and my husband made several copies of my car key. One for himself, one hanging in the house, and one in that useless little 5th pocket in my jeans! Scoooore! I go through about 15,000 wipes and finally get her clean, then go back inside with my diaper bag, even though I probably (hopefully) won't need it. Visit goes uneventfully, and the room smells better already.  The Little Pooper was charming as ever, of course, and won the doctor over. Kiss-up.

And Mama learns a valuable lesson. Always bring the diaper bag? Pshaw. No. Always keep spare car key in a pocket!