Sunday, 27 April 2008

Embarrassing toddler moments!

{Screaming} "No, mummy!! She's going to GET me!! Mummy, no!! AAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH".

This is Thing One following a perfectly nice, normal, tall lady with dark hair into the chemist, all because poor lady had a lock of white hair at her brow.

"Cruella de Vil, Mummy, no, don't let her get me!"

I like to think that I'm immune, after years of humiliation at the hands of small cuties, from those "Oh-My-God, Open-Up-Ground-Let-Me-In" moment. Evey time I think I have a handle on it, one of them does something to dissuade me from over-confidence though.

From loud bottom burping at the checkout (oh a baby couldn't possibly make that atrocious smell and honking noise, how could you try and pass off your own flatulence on that poor innocent baybee) to complete meltdowns at the doctor's surgery (what a terrible parent, can't even control a small child), there is no end to the abject terror of taking a toddler out in public.

However, here I present, for your horror and amusement, the tale of The Most Embarrassing Moment Ever.

Note: over use of poo synonyms and imagery follows. Be warned. Put your food down.

So picture the scene. It is a gorgeous sunny day. Thing Two is about 18 months old. She is dressed for the heat in just a nappy, sandals and a loose shift dress. Thing One is with us, she has just turned 4 years old, and is wearing a smocked top over leggings. We are the picture perfect image of a yummy mummy and her two adorably perfect toddlers. (What? How do you know? It could be true! Stop laughing at me!) We turn from the heat and shimmer of that hot summer day into the cool dimness of the public library, and we browse for books in the children's section, parking the pushchair in an unused corner while Thing One and Thing Two exclaim with joy, turning pages and looking at pictures. Finally we make our selection, and meander down to the desk. So far so perfect, huh?

As we approach, I smell the unmistakable aroma of toddler diarrhoea. Oh no. We only popped in on a whim, I don't have the changing bag with me. Never mind, I'll just check these out, and we'll run on home. Confidently, I place the selection on the desk, smiling at the grumpy old woman who snatches the library cards while mentally shoving my perfect children in an oven.

"Mama," comes Thing Two's little voice.

"In a second, darling" I remark, my smile freezing into place while my instincts start to kick in. Grumpy librarian hesitates in her book stamping, warily sensing danger.

Too late. Thing Two has lifted her dress and removed the offending nappy, not wanting the smelly thing touching her for any longer than totally necessary.

"Mama," Thing Two says again, and I start to turn, just as she swings the nappy up for me to take.

Um. Liquid in a moving article tends not to remain stationary. The brown stuff hits the fan. Literally. It also hits me, the pushchair, and Thing Two. Her hair, her dress, her legs, her arms. It doesn't stop there. Oh no.

The carpet. The desk. The books. The leaflets. Oh-my-f'ing-god, the librarian. Excrement drips off her glasses. The telephone. The scanner. The computer screen. How on earth does a small toddler have so much crap in her?? The library is a sea of brown liquid faecal matter.

All this before I have completed 90 degrees of my turn to face my little angel.

Holy sh... sugar. Did I mention, no changing bag? No wipes? No muslins? Not even a snotty tissue in my pocket? Curse the summer weather. No jacket or cardigan or anything at all.

I have to admit, most of the next few minutes is mercifully missing from my memory. I seem to remember scooping up Thing Two, almost throwing her in the pushchair, using the dirty nappy to make things worse smear some of the worst excesses off the desk, scooping up books and poo in my bare hands and fleeing, stammering apologies at the still frozen librarian. I'm sure there was more to it, but my wonderful brain has locked it away behind those steel vault doors, never to see the light of day again.

Seven years on, and I have to pluck up my courage to say: local library, I am soooo sorry!

No comments: