I went up to the county offices today to pick up a birth certificate for Abby. I was dreading it because I didn't know how long the wait would be, if Abby would be bored, if we'd run out of snacks if the wait was long, all that kind of thing. Turns out getting the certificate was the easiest part of the morning.
When I took Abby out of her carseat, I felt that her pants were wet. Oh great,I thought. I don't think we have any extra clothes in the car. Well, I'll change her and she won't feel the wet pants through the new diaper. I set her down to pick up the diaper changer off the floor, then glanced to her carseat.
Poop. In the seat. All over the seat, in fact.
I glance down at Abby, who is dancing next to the car.
Poop. Up her back. Oozing out of her pants.
It took half a pack of wipes to clean her up. By the time I got her stripped down, it was all over her--arms, legs, feet, hair. And where am I changing her, you ask? In the trunk, which is actually pretty easy because the back row folds flat. But the surface is far too low, so I ended up retriggering my screwed up sciatic nerve issue in my back from bending over for so long. And of course it's windy today, so her poor little naked body is covered with goosebumps and she's shivering and crying.
There's a 12 month jacket--the only piece of Abby clothing in the car--so I zip that on her, line her carseat with a towel, and buckle her back in. Now she's crying because she wants to play--apparently the Civic Center looks like a park to her, despite the lack of grass and equipment. I called my dad and had him look up Target to find the nearest store, which turns out to be less than 2 miles away. I pull out and pay the only dollar I have on me to the parking attendant--2 more minutes and I would have owed two dollars, and I literally did not have another dollar, even in change. Thank you Lord!
Once we're at Target I swaddled Abby's naked legs in my jacket and carted her through the store, my back screaming the whole way, to find some clothes. Forgot to bring her shoes in, though, so even after I have her dressed in the bathroom I have to keep carrying her, which she doesn't like because she wants to walk, so she's squirming and fussing about walking and I'm explaining for the zillionth time that no shoes means no walking. Back into the car--she's mad again that she can't play--and back to the Civic Center. I park right in front of the building, all excited with the space I'd found, only to find that the Clerk-Recorder's office is in the other wing of the building, a five minute walk away when you're waiting on Abby, who keeps stopping and asking you for "Uppies" which you can't do because your back is threatening to go on strike just from the walking and heaven only knows what might happen if you tried carrying her.
Once we got in there things were completely uneventful, thankfully, other than the clerk's computer being totally laggy and taking 10 minutes to process our request. The clerk was nice though, and didn't seem to notice the disgusting scent of poop that was clinging to me and the kid. We got our stuff, got out, and got home without incident.
We capped off the morning with Abby chucking handfuls of peas onto the floor during lunch and burning my finger with burning squirting hot dog juice.