Day #1. Warning! This post is rated P. Yes, and duh, considering that I have a baby, “P” stands for poop.
So, despite our better judgement, we decided to drive from Texas to North Carolina. With a 9 month old. Riiiiight. Talk about adventurous! Day #1 actually went freaking AWESOME. So awesome in fact, that we were texting our friends bragging about what a bada$$ little traveling baby we created. Well, we should have known better. To be fair, Landri wasn’t misbehaved later; she was just being the baby that she is. Okay so a lot more details are needed to truly paint the picture of these two stressed out new parents. Long story long, we stopped in Louisiana for the first night. A friend of mine had always recommended a fabulous plantation on the river for dinner. He assured me that babies were welcome. Upon calling for a reservation, the plantation confirmed this. Enter issue #1. While I believe my friend and the restaurant that babies are welcome, it definitely wasn’t a place I felt comfortable taking a baby. We walked into a super gorgeous, fancy, intimate setting. We are talking white table cloths, men in suits, women in cocktail dresses. And the room couldn’t be more than 15 ft by 15 ft. Small, soft, quiet, cozy, close…and most of all, as I mentioned earlier, VERY intimate. Enter 9 month old baby. Scott and I were immediately struck with legitimately paralyzing fear for what was about to transpire. As we took the last table, and Landri let out a loud shriek, we both started sweating. Should we just go now? Landri had been the PERFECT baby ALL day. There was NO way she could keep it up for another few hours. We reluctantly sat her in the high chair (I still can’t believe they even had one!), as nervous as hookers in church. We fed her 5,000 puffs (basically baby Cheerio-like treats), had toys and a paci ready to go. Besides dumping about 4,000 of said puffs on the floor, Landri was doing quite well surprisingly. We nervously ordered drinks and perused the menu.
Then she started her famous audible grunting signaling a bowel movement. And to our great dismay, it was a much more labored than her usual poop grunt. In my heart of hearts I knew this was a bad sign. But Scott and I were both almost in hysterical tears trying to silently laugh as to not disturb our nearby table-mates. It was a “is this really happening right now” laugh mixed with a “holy crap shes burning 100 calories a minute trying to squeeze this one out” laugh! No one else seemed to notice but they HAD to have just been being polite because there was no way that they didn’t notice Landri’s violent and loud poop labor in that tiny and quiet little room. Anyhow, sure enough I take a quick peek down her pants. Yep! Visible poop down there! Wanting to change her before she ruined everyone’s dinner in close quarters with her toxic poopie smells, I awkwardly snatch her up, try to keep my strapless dress from falling down, and raced her downstairs to the restroom.
Enter issue #2. I run into the hostess who informs me that there is no changing table in the restroom. Big surprise there since Landri was probably the first baby to ever grace this restaurant. I knew it was probably a record poop based on her grunt performance, and time was of utmost importance (time = poop leakage), so I had no choice but to change her right then and there on the plantation’s front porch bench (also recommended by said hostess). I get out my changing pad, lay Landri down and notice a large hunk of baby $hit on my arm (the only photo I could manage before all hell broke loose, literally; see below). Seriously. WTH. Not a good way to start. And again, long story long, Poop-acolypse. Big time. Words cannot describe the disaster that my daughter had created. I seriously just sat there and stared at the mess that was Landri and me. It was so out of control that I didn’t even know where or how to start. And we were awkwardly set up on a porch bench exposed for the world to see! This had NEVER happened to me. And I feel like we have had some record book bad poops in the last 9 months. But this poop blew all previous blowouts outta the water. I run out of wipes. Baby rolls around in poop. Baby ends up naked. I wrestle poopy wipes OUT OF HER MOUTH AND HANDS, and she somehow escapes crawling at the speed of light around the porch (naked) while I chase her with armfuls of poopy clothes, wipes, pad, etc. Probably the best part though, is that a half dozen people walked by and “ignore” me. Oh yeah, you know, the naked poopy little kooka in your face really is a mirage! I somehow managed to text Scott, “May Day May Day May Day!!! Get drinks to go!” For the first time ever, I didn’t have backup clothes and I wasn’t taking her up there naked next to the dude in a suit. It felt like an hour for Scott to get down there, even though in reality it was probably only 5 minutes. So the hostess then recommended a more casual, baby friendly place nearby that ended up being very good. Landri ate her weight in cornbread and lemons (random and weird!) and partied it up with the live band. A few grandmas at the next table were obsessed with her and took turns holding her and dancing with her. Scott and I were like, “Okay, we’ll be back in 2 hours, LOL!” Anyhow, everything turned out great but what a ride!!!!!