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……