I feel kind of bad not making much to do over his actual birthday, but we just had his celebration with my parents last night and we'll do one with Mr. Pigs' parents tomorrow. I am not having a birthday party for him. Aren't I mean? I thought about it and decided two grandparent celebrations and me bringing cookies to school on Tuesday is quite enough. I mean, he's three! I'm going to save a little something for later when he's older and can help me plan and get excited. Birthdays to Piglet are exclusively about the cake and the blowing of the candle right now, so he's good to go. I guess I should probably get him a present though, huh? I'll pick one out of the gift closet when I get home.
This brings us to today, our drive home from the beach. We stopped at Wendy's on the way in for a quick lunch and this story is going to be about Pigpen. He isn't featured nearly enough on this blog, as it is usually his brother doing outlandish things. But today, on Piglet's birthday, we turn the spotlight to Pigpen.
You must realize by now that this is going to involve poop and it's going to be gross. This is just how my kids roll. Pigpen has developed an inconvenient habit of pooping during meals. Perhaps he just doesn't have time for it while he's busy playing? I don't know. The technique which he utilizes is simply not in line with strength or integrity of the elastic on the Pampers Cruiser size 3 leg hole.
If you must know (since you asked) between bites, he will lean to one side, assume the poop grimace, turn very red, and release. Occasionally, there is some grunting, but it's typically just the above measures. The Great Downfall to this technique is the side lean. In the last few weeks, we have had 8-10 of these elaborate blowouts which always involve escaped poo, stained clothing, and, um....
This brings us back to the Wendy's of Cheraw, South Carolina. There we are, eating lunch like the fine, upstanding citizens that we are. Always Keeping the Klass, we are. Pigpen finishes up and I lift him from his highchair when it happens. Even though I see the poo coming down his leg and all over his shorts, I could not stop the momentum of his body into my lap. As though time was slowed down, I cringed and howled, "Nooooooooo!"
You must realize I'm now sitting in the middle of Wendy's with poo on my shorts. I may have also forgotten to mention that Mr. Pigs is from very near this small town and everyone knows everyone. Up toddles an adorable grandmotherly woman, coming to see Mr. Pigs' boys in all their glory. Grabbing a stack of yellow Wendy's napkins, I attempt to shift Pigpen's foul blunder from public view and get a little something between him, his essence and my thigh.
Grandma coos and sighs at the sweetness and adorable-ness that are my children. I pray that she can't tell that the little one smells like cow dung and smile politely, accepting her compliments. At last she toddles off and I stand, hissing at Mr. Pigs to helpmerightnow. The horror on his face tells me what I need to know as I ease from my chair, desperately trying to control the extent of the damage. I grab my diaper bag and head for the bathroom when my eyes take in the MAN-SIZED TURD sitting on the chair I had just vacated. Just sitting right there on the chair in the dining room of Wendy's where people eat. A turd.
Mr. Pigs takes it like a man, swallowing back his lunch as he gags and cleans the chair. Upon arrival to the bathroom, I find that the Cheraw, South Carolina Wendy's does not have a changing table. No counter, no Koala Kare pull down jobby, none of the germ-laden, festering squalor I was searching for. Blast.
In as dignified a way as possible, I eased out of the establishment, still caked in poo, mind you, and unloaded everything into the parking lot. Right then and there in front of God and everybody, I stripped my baby naked on the curb and wiped his tail right there in the parking lot. Well, his tail, legs, ensemble, hair, etc. I'd like to apologize to the patrons of Wendy's who were sitting close to the window nearest the parking lot.
Casually tossing the carnage into a nearby trashcan, I loaded my diaper-clad child into his car seat with no clothes on and moved along. I like to make an impression wherever I go.