Shlepping Kids

Jane at BabySquared writes about intentionally dehydrating herself before a long drive with her twin pre-toddlers so she wouldn't have to stop for a bathroom break on the way:

"This was the first time I've attempted a road trip of any length alone with the girls... I was careful not to drink too much water before I left, and though I would have liked a cup of coffee for the road, it was just too risky. I didn't bring a stroller, which meant that there was pretty much no way I could have stopped to go to the bathroom... I tried to imagine what I would do if things got really, really desperate. I decided that I could:

1.) Pull up close to a gas station with a convenience store, look inside to see if there was a sane-looking woman working there and, if there was, run in and beg her to go out and keep an eye on the girls while I peed. (No offense, guys, but it just wouldn't be cool to ask some random man to watch my children. Probably not so cool to ask a random woman either, but if I had no other choice....)

2.) Pull over to the side of the road somewhere semi-secluded but not too secluded and go behind a bush while still able to see the car, but somehow still hidden from other motorists. It would be hard to find the ideal terrain scenario for this.

3.) Go to a Dunkin Donuts, where there's a high probability of seeing a police officer (in New England, the cops at donut shops thing isn't just a stereotype -- or a mere line from a Bangles song, for that matter -- it's for real, I swear), and ask him or her to keep an eye on the babies while I went inside.

4.) Put one baby in the baby backpack, which I did have in the car, and carry the other one, and go into a rest stop. But this would present the problem of what to do with the baby I'm carrying while in the restroom. Put her on the floor? Ick. But again. Extreme bladder emergencies require extreme measures ..."

As a single mom, I've had innumerable similar experiences.  Can you balance a baby on one thigh to change its diaper while standing on your other foot, propped up against a public bathroom wall because the restaurant's clientèle obviously reproduce by cell division and therefore have no children so the restaurant  sees no need for changing tables?  You bet!  At least I can, and have.  I've also gone to the bathroom myself clutching a baby around the waist with one arm; he screamed  copiously, but hey -- at least it showed he was still alive.

My favorite story, however, doesn't involve potties at all, but rather chocolate ice cream.

When my son was a month old we stopped by Baskin Robbins on the hottest day of the year for two scoops of chocolate ice cream on a cone (both for me).  Robespierre was in the pumpkin seat, so I opened the car door and clicked the seat back into its carrier with one hand, holding the cone in the other.  At this point the ice cream began to melt.  Really.  Quickly.  All the way down my arm to the elbow.  And of course, I didn't have any napkins.

Now, what are my options?

1. Return to BR for napkins.  Rejected due to the impossibility of getting the pumpkin seat out of the car singlehandedly.
2. Leave the baby in the car and run back into BR for napkins.  Rejected for sooo many reasons, notably the baby will suffocate, and, as a brand-new mother, I cannot conceive of leaving him alone even for five seconds.
3. Leave the baby in that car with the windows open and the motor running.  Rejected because, well, even I'm not that dumb.
4. Call for help.  Rejected because in those days I still hoped for some dignity.
5. Ignore the dripping and get in the car.  Rejected because -- yuk.
6. Throw away the ice cream.  Rejected because it's against my religion to throw away ice cream, especially chocolate (remind me to tell the hot fudge story sometime).
7. Inhale the ice cream.  A disappointing choice at best as I'll derive very little pleasure from the ice cream, although there is the consolation that I won't have killed my kid so soon when he hadn't even begun to be annoying.

So I went with Number 5, inhaling all the ice cream in two mouthfuls without even suffering brain freeze because it was the hottest day of the year.

Then Robey and I visited my grandmother.  Before leaving I went to the bathroom and saw chocolate smeared all over my face.  My grandmother was practically blind so she hadn't noticed, but the lady that stayed with her surely must have seen it; maybe she didn't mention it because she thought I always looked like that.  Or maybe she was so entranced by Robey that she hadn't even noticed me.

Or maybe she thought I was crazy lady wearing war paint and she ought not to make any sudden moves.

Comments

[Jack]

I vote for warpaint.

[Anna]

So funny. I'd go with the warpaint, too.

Love your blog!

[FeeFiFoto]

Thanks! I love writing it. I suppose war paint might give me an aura of power, since otherwise I have very little credibility.