It happened again.
I took my son over to a friend’s house and I forgot diapers. Sometimes I wonder when exactly my brain stopped working. It was probably somewhere between my husband being gone for a work trip and the start of my third trimester.
After a certain point, you just stop thinking correctly. I’m not trying to make excuses, but pregnancy brain is a real thing, and today it was in full force.
I looked inside my diaper bag again. This time I dug to the way bottom where all the Cheerio crumbs live. And you know what I found? Yep. No diapers. Just Cheerio crumbs.
There was only one thing left to do.
Apologizing to my friend, I told her that I forgot diapers, but I needed to change the soiled one. As a mom of a school-aged son, she did what any awesome mom would do, and she gave me a pair of his underwear to use for my toddler.
I mean, we could’ve left right then and there, gone home for the day, put a diaper back on the toddler, and swear to never leave the house without diapers again. It’s hard though. I feel like sometimes as a stay-at-home parent you’ll do anything to get out of the house and stay out of the house for the day. This includes staying out of the house even when you forget diapers and should probably go home because your child is not even close to being ready for underwear.
So underwear it was. Donned with Scooby Doo underwear one or two sizes too big, my toddler was off to play again. They sagged a bit, but fit around the waist, and that was good enough for me.
At 33 weeks pregnant I went back to the kitchen to chat a bit more with my friend. I sat there thinking to myself that an adult conversation was oh-so-nice at the moment. My belly was rapidly expanding, my husband was still gone for work, and I relished in pretty much any moment where I could escape motherhood for 10 minutes and talk to an adult. We could talk about anything—even boring stuff like the weather—and I still would find it scintillating.
My dream of a boring conversation didn’t happen though.
I heard the two older kids shouting and screaming, and I knew I was in for it.
I knew it, and yet I was afraid to go look. I sat there thinking that for sure my 10 minutes of weather conversation were over, and we would be going home now. I laughed on the inside because you do need to maintain a sense of humor about these things.
I mustered enough strength in my legs to boost my 33 week belly up from the chair to discover the evidence. I didn’t have to walk far down the hallway to see the delightful trail of poop following my son all the way to the living room. The sagging underwear one or two sizes too big were still snuggly around his waist, yet the mess was everywhere but the underwear.
When I saw the disaster, it made me think about a comment another mother shared with me once. She said, “Being a stay-at-home parent is a luxury, but it’s not luxurious.”
Because after one steam mop, one bottle of sanitizer, two rolls of paper towel, one highly contaminated pair of Scooby Doo underwear, one naked toddler, and one very pregnant mama scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees, I was only thinking one thing.
Wise words. Wise woman.
She was right.
Getting to stay at home with your kids? That is a luxury. I’m so thankful every day that my spouse and I can afford for me to stay-at-home full-time. His job is demanding and the consistency of one parent in the home with all the ups and downs of military life is truly a luxury. There are the moments when you get an extra kiss in the morning that you would otherwise miss. And there are the moments when your child reaches a new milestone and only you are witness to that special accomplishment.
But then there are the moments when you are on the floor at a friend’s house cleaning up a highly contaminated trail of you-know-what, and you think to yourself…
Is this really everything I dreamed it would be?
The crusty bits of oatmeal in my hair, the pregnant belly, the half-baked attempt to wear make-up, and now the delightful new perfume called Toddler No. 2 scenting my entire body—yeah, luxurious was markedly absent from my life.
The key to surviving motherhood is to laugh and smile at this point. We packed up our things and headed home, naked toddler and all.
When we got home, I cleaned him up a bit more and got ready to lay him down for a nap. Gently rubbing his hand to my cheek, he looked me in the eye and smiled, as if to say thanks for having my back on that one, mom. Sure thing, kid. Sure thing.
Is Motherhood luxurious? Not in the slightest. Nope.
But that moment? That moment where you and your child connect and understand each other without using a single word? Yes, that is a luxury.
Want more on motherhood?
- Why I Finally Quit Doing It All
- Making Peace With Becoming a Stay-at-Home Mom
- The Actual Reason Moms Don’t Take Care of Themselves
- When Motherhood Feels Heavy…Remember This
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Charlee @ Humble in a Heartbeat
Wise words, mama. 🙂 Hang in there!!
I just found this…beautifully said. I love that I am blessed with the luxury of being home with my son. It makes all the poop trails worth it. Don’t you love how they experiment with how their little feet feel smooshing bits of squishy whatever into carpets, across floors…to think, someone else would be enjoying that milestone if I worked! ??
Haha. Yes. So true!