Monday the kids and I got back from a trip to Kansas for little brother’s senior recital… his crowning musical glory before he heads off to musical grad school.
Usually when we go back we do it for a week but this time it was a lot cheaper to go the weekend before as well so we ended up being there 10 days. Being there 10 days made me realize why we usually go for 7. It’s right around day 6.5 that everything stops being awesome. Up until then the suuuuper annoying things about my parents, small towns, red states, and being blown away every time you step out side are endearing and quaint because I’ve been gone so long… but then I remember why I moved a thousand miles away from everything and the vacation isn’t fun anymore.
But the trip did finally end and Monday we flew back to Phoenix. It is not the first time I’ve flown half way across the country by myself with two small children, not even close. I’m well versed in the art of keeping chaos in bay for a couple hours on an airplane (or at least closing my eyes and breathing deeply while everything breaks down) and in general they’ve both been awesome every time we’ve flown. Even last summer when we came back and they both developed raging double ear infections that we got to fly with they still did a pretty stand up job of the whole bit. So naturally I didn’t expect anything different from this flight.
The first half was uneventful. They played, they opened and closed the window about a bazillion times, opened and closed the tray table about a bazillion and a half times, all the normal stuff. Then Finn signed that he wanted a bottle so I pulled him up on my lap hoping he’d fall asleep while he had it but when he was almost finished he looked up at me and grinned… and that’s when I felt it.
Baby dude was peeing, and for whatever reason his diaper was having none of it. He was peeing all over himself and all over me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
Also, this child pees more than most adults. I don’t know what it is about his bladder but it’s out of control.
Right as I started looking around for a place I could take him to change his clothes they turned on the seatbelt sign so there was nothing I could do even if I wanted to. I couldn’t even take him off my lap because, since he’s young enough that we didn’t to buy a ticket for him, that meant he had to be on my lap whenever the seatbelt sign was on.
And just then he realized how wet he was. Poor dude was completely soaked… like, I’m gonna have to wring these overalls out in the sink soaked… and he was pissed. (Pun intended.) He wanted me to change him. He wanted me to take his clothes off. He wanted me to let him off my lap. And I couldn’t do any of those things.
And he thanked me by completely losing his shit. He shrieked at brain shaking volumes and pitches, arched his back, kicked and flailed and I’m pretty sure I saw his head spin all the way around at one point like that freaky little kid in the Exorcist. And since this was all on my lap I was then also soaked, from nipples to knees, with his pee as well. The tiny plane reeked of urine, childless people turned and glared, the people across the aisle from us covered their ears (dude’s got lungs), I apologized once or twice but then realized nobody gave a shit what I said so instead started loudly singing Finn’s favorite German lullaby in his ear to try and calm him down. (It didn’t work.)
This went on for the next 45 minutes.
And just as I thought shit couldn’t go any further downhill I heard a subtle “click… click… click…” coming from next to me. I turn to find Verona, who had been sitting there quietly the whole time, holding my phone and taking pictures of the shenanigans.
She shrugged and without missing a beat responded,
Well with logic like that.
About nine years later (at least it felt like that) the plane landed, I put Finn in the sling and piled all out belongings on my back like a freaking pack mule, and we made our way at a
snail’s pace toddler’s pace out of what was now an incredibly smelly enclosed space to where David was waiting for us.
He hugged me, then backed up with a sour look on his face because he obviously smelled it. “Yes.” I said, “I’m covered in pee. No, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go home.”
And go home we did.
And because I knew you would all probably ask for it, here is one of Verona’s pictures. You’re welcome.