Last weekend, I wrote about a strange experience changing a diaper in a public restroom. I’m now beginning to thing that crazy dirty-diaper-changing stories are the norm.
We got a meal at Uno’s up in West Chester. While we were still eating, it was obvious the Tobe needed to be changed. My turn. I took him into the men’s room, where there thankfully was a changing table. Unthankfully, the kid’s poop was not fully contained by the diaper. This changing experience required 6 wipes instead of my usual 1. A new record. Also, a new outfit was needed. After last weekend’s experience, I must say that men’s room changing tables are key.
(Unsolicited advice: Pampers. Only use Pampers. Accept nothing less. Huggies are not good enough to hold my son’s poop. And I mean that in every way you can imagine.)
On the way home, Robyn wanted to pick up a few things at a major retailer based in Bentonville, Arkansas. You may know it as Wal*Mart. Toby had just eaten and been changed, so we figured he’d be good for awhile. I encouraged her to go in by herself, because it’s a challenge to get the kid in and out of the car. Besides, he was asleep. And also, it would give her a chance to get more than 20 feet away from her son for the first time since his conception.
The first 10 minutes went pretty smoothly, as he was asleep. Then, it was clear once more that he needed to be changed. We were still a 15 minute drive away from home, plus however long Robyn was still going to be in the store. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to sit in my own feces for more than a couple minutes… so I decided I’d go in and take advantage of the changing table that a big family friendly company like Wal*Mart would surely have.
Right.
I went into the men’s room, waited for the handicapped stall to become available, entered said stall… no changing table. By now, Toby was getting pretty upset at the fact that he was chilling in his own shtuff. I walked out of the restroom, asked one of the 185-year-old women at the information booth where I was supposed to change my son, and, without hesitation, with a smile, she said, “Just go in the women’s room.”
Right. Stupid old lady.
But as I’ve said before, desperate times call for desperate measures. The old woman said, again, “Just go on in there,” this time with the waving hand motion.
Oh yeah. I went in there. 4 stalls had closed doors. I heard peeing in the potties. Should I alert them that there was a man in the room, or just wait until one of them finished? Questions like these make my head explode. I decided to try to change him quick and get out of there unnoticed.
Not a prayer. This was a 4-wiper. Not only did all 4 of those women get to meet me and my son, but so did the next 2 women that walked in while I was mid-change. 2 of the women seemed quite upset that I was in there. 2 of the women wanted to be my friend and hold my son. The other 2 ignored my existence.
It was awesome. Parenthood, in the immortal word of Greg McDaniel, is “fantastic.”
Another Public Restroom Story
January 26, 2006 by scoot81
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