Category Archives: changing station

Normal life

ikea-blog

A wee excerpt from my normal life…

Taking the elevator from the top floor in Ikea, down to the bottom with my cousin. Oh, how do we love Ikea. So many things to think and plan about, meatballs to eat, lighting fixtures to drool over. It is a beautiful place for the female members of my family.

Let’s backtrack a little…. rewind back to the food court on the top floor, about 10 minutes earlier… focus in on our lovely Ikea meal we were having. Well, that C and I were having, as V was clearly not interested in having any part of it. This was  illustrated by the carrots and cheese that he spat out. Spat out with force, I might add. He got some serious distance. Where did this random ‘skill’ come from? No idea…(signs are pointing towards his father though…)

So, as we fought with the meal tray, dropped carrots all over the place, spat out some meatball, smeared things all over our very small 18 month-sized shirt….all of this heavy action was followed by a stealth-poop.

And by stealth-poop, I mean that there were none of the usual warning signs. No grunting, no red face, no nuttin’……

Just an unfortunate smell…. one that crept up on me. It took C a while to notice… and that is because she does not have a poop-machine at home and so doesn’t recognize the early aromas-slash-signs….

But when it hit her…. oh man. It really hit her.

By then we were already on our way to the ‘family’ change-room.

But. It was locked. Damn it!! My son’s poop-bottom is more important than yours!

So I headed into the main washroom which thankfully had a changing-station.

Oh, that poor ladies-room. It was quickly defiled the instant that my son’s pants came off. That movement was punctuated by C’s exclamation of  ‘Motherf’er! Jame. That. Is. Awful.”

It might have been, but honestly, my nostrils are immune to stank like that. And my eyeballs don’t even notice anymore.

The other ladies that exited stalls and washed their hands smiled at my commentary regarding Little Man’s stinky pants. His very stinky pants. And how nice that the changing table was situated so that his dirty little bottom faced the mirrors and was reflected down the washroom.

As I wiped, cleaned, wiped and wiped some more, ladies filed in and out. There were giggles. Some of them might have come from my cousin.

As I reached into my diaper bag and pulled out a stank-diaper bag (you know, one of those ‘green’ bags that you stuff your stink into when you are out in public so the trash doesn’t stink awfully?) and got ready to deposit the ‘deposit’ into it, my cousin exclaimed at its cleverness. Really, it is very clever.

Such a nice way to tidy up after a stinky bum.

The lady washing her hands at the sink chimed in “I use plastic bags to clean up my cat’s litter box. They are so handy.”

C: “But I bet yours aren’t Arm and Hammer”.

Bathroom Lady: “No. You are right. I just use regular plastic bags”. *laugh*

Jaime: “My bags come with a handy container to hook on your hand-bag”.

C: “Quite handy when you are at Ikea”

BL: “I don’t bring my cats with me to Ikea”.

*Silence*

And then we left the bathroom and headed down to the ground floor…

Just another normal day….

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Change(ing)

koala-blog

I did not look like this (and neither did V) as we wrestled..... tres misleading...

Oh tonight you are in for a treat! It’s a double feature!

Part one to commence momentarily and part two to follow later…

The scene opens at Barnes and Noble with wee V scooting all over the children’s book section like some kind of speed racer and M and I frantically trying to keep him from destroying the room like he does his bedroom. One corner of the section had a raised platform, which I am assuming is for story time. V found it incredibly amusing to climb up the steps and then climb down them face-first.

In the middle of all of this action, there was a pause for some serious grunting. You know what that entails…. and if M and I had any doubts, those were quickly chased away on his next lap passed us.

Foul ball in play!

I grabbed the diaper bag and Little Man and headed off to the washroom, hoping that they had a baby changing station.

And oh thank god they did. One of those Koala ones which, I think, are considered the norm in terms of changing stations. What followed was not. Or not at least any norm that I have encountered. Which might mean that it has now become the norm. Which scared me. And still does.

That strap that you tie your child down with was broken. And I say ‘tie down’ as that is what I wished I could do.

Or maybe super glue him to the table. My changing pad and the changing table combined together created the slipperiest surface man has ever known. It was like I had oiled the whole thing (and him) down. I couldn’t keep him on his back. Or in one fixed place. He moved, the pad moved with him and he almost slid off the table about a dozen times and almost landed in the garbage can a few times too.

I. Could. Not. Keep. Him. Still.

And then he started screaming. It was one of those long tiled bathrooms, changing table at the end in the handicapped stall. It echoed.

M swore he didn’t hear a thing outside, but I caught a few looks on my way out. I saw you looking at me. Go ahead! You try it! See if you do a better job than I did!!

Approximately 15 minutes later I emerged sweating like a mother (oh, how this expression makes sense), with angelic-like V in my arms, poop-free and content now that he wasn’t on that awful table. I needed a shower. And a drink. It was 11 am.

Koala changing tables, I curse thee!! Please provide multiple straps so all of us mothers with our practical changing pads that your surface repels can strap our children down so they don’t end up in the garbage can with the dirty diapers (holy run-on sentence).

How I long for the practicality of the Vancouver Airport marble slab changing counter outside of customs, with that deep indentation, your child ain’t going anywhere……

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