I should wear a couple of empty tissue boxes on my feet secured with duct tape.
A couple weeks ago, I took baby to the playground, where I stepped in some hybrid concoction of melted gum/melted hard candy that was permanently stuck onto my shoes. I only noticed when I was driving home and my foot was stuck to the floor mat rather than reaching for the brakes. For baby’s sake and due to my laziness, instead of trying to clean the shoes I decided to invest in a pair of new shoes. I hadn’t splurged on myself in half a year so I decided to go for it.
I’d been wearing the new shoes for a week. When I went to the supermarket, they had just repaved the entire parking lot. Since we were allowed to park there, I figured that meant it was dry enough to walk on. It wasn’t. So my shoes go queek queek as I walk now. But that would surely wear off in time. After a couple days of walking they wouldn’t be sticky anymore.
The following day, we all went on a family trip to Ikea. We bought food at the restaurant and I wheeled it to our table with this nifty food cart. The wheels on the cart tripped up on a crack on the floor and the cart flew forward. Like the idiot I am, I stood there with my jeans and new shoes soaking wet with soda with everyone in the cafeteria staring at me. It was like middle school all over again, except I never did anything like that in middle school. I waited until my 30s. Ok, so tar and soda isn’t that bad. I can rinse them later.
After lunch we walked around Ikea for a bit. Baby drank her milk in the cart and I don’t know how it happened exactly, but right in the middle of the aisle showcasing dining room tables she puked. Then she puked some more. Then the smell of puke made her puke again. And again. And again. She was ok afterwards, don’t worry. I slid on the vomit-y mess running around the shopping cart, desperately trying to clean the puke off of her, and the cart. I got an extra pair of clothes out of the diaper bag and changed her right in front of crowds of people walking by. Most were older couples, who nodded sympathetically to me, smiling. Some did the head tilt thing too. I don’t need your head-tilting sympathetic smiles, but I would greatly appreciate if someone offered me a paper towel, or napkin, a sponge, maybe? I thought to myself. Chris ran to get help, but he came back empty-handed. Rather than standing in a pile of puke for who knows how long waiting for assistance that may or may not come, we strategically placed the shopping cart over the puke and walked away as fast as we could. Sympathetic looks with no tissues or napkins weren’t helping us at that point, anyway.
We got into the car and started to drive home (a trip that took 2 hours thanks go a traffic jam that blocked 6 lanes, but that’s another story). When I looked down at my shoes, well, I don’t have to explain what I saw, do I? I started to get sad, not just about the shoes, but about how this stuff always seems to happen to us. I never hear or see this stuff happen to any other family. In fact, that puking incident wasn’t the first. We had 3 that week. In public. And not just from milk. It could be anything that triggers it. Smells, tastes, or just being upset for even a minute transforms sweet baby into exorcist baby.
Is there a lesson or a point to this whole story, besides letting me whine?
- You can’t have nice things (like shoes) when you have kids.
- You might as well wear tissue boxes secured with duct tape on your feet when you have kids.
- Carry extra wipes (MORE THAN YOU EXPECT TO USE)
- Have extra plastic bags for puke that your husband swears he couldn’t find in time in your diaper bag, again (“Where? Where?! There’s too many compartments in this bag!! Is it in the big pocket or the little pocket? Front or back? They aren’t here! I looked everywhere and they aren’t here! Oh, I found them.”)
- Have an extra set of clothes in your diaper bag.
- Wherever you go in Atlanta, you WILL be stuck in a traffic jam for TWO HOURS.
- Just don’t bother going out in public for another 5 years.
- In which case, you don’t need to worry about having shoes.