Even as a child, I always had an uncanny ability (if you want to call it that) to always see the irony of any given situation. And while my memory has definitely taken a serious hit after having B, there are some things that will stick with me for a long, long time.
Like our first Mommy/Daughter trip to TJMaxx, for instance. B was probably three months old, and I had finally recovered enough from my last shopping trip fiasco to venture forth into the public domain for a second time.
We made it to the store with minimal problems, but B was in her stroller for no more than a couple minutes before the screams started. Needless to say, B was hungry. Again.
Completely scarred from the last time I attempted to feed her in the car, I decided that we would try for the public restroom this time.
After leaving the stroller outside as instructed, we walked in together, B in one arm and everything I could possible imagine needing in the other. I attempt to put toilet paper down on the seat. That fails. Three times.
She’s screaming. Screams are turning into wails. People are walking into the restroom and quickly determining that they don’t have to pee THAT BADLY so they mercifully leave.
I finally decide that we’re going to do this one standing up. One foot goes on top of the bowl and I prop B up to optimal feeding height. She can’t figure it out. And by this point, she’s so pissed off that she probably couldn’t have found what she needed if I glued her mouth to it.
We switch feet. We throw the burp towel across the other shoulder. We try again. And we SUCCEED! The feeling of triumph was almost enough to make me forget about the 60 minutes of hell leading up to this very moment.
But then someone opens the outdoor bathroom door again, completely catching me offguard.
And my whole foot falls right into the toilet bowl – which of course I didn’t flush beforehand because I didn’t want the noise to freak B out.
Burp cloth falls into said toilet bowl, B starts wailing again, and I just walk right out of that restroom, offering a short, “Sorry but I think we clogged your toilet bowl,” to the maintenance worker we encountered on the way out.
To her credit, she never asked me to clarify, even after watching me limp out of the store with a trail of water behind my shoe.
I guess to paraphrase the old adage, some days you may be the dog, but if you’re a new mom, chances are that most days you’re definitely the hydrant.