Feed on

As the potty training has progressed–albeit like a snail out for a stroll–we’ve gotten careless.  About the wipes.  And the fact that they ought to–under no circumstance–be removed from the van.  Which they were, uh…some time ago.  Or we ran out.  One of those.

Only tonight, twenty-five miles from home, there wasn’t time to discuss the non-wipes.  There wasn’t much to do but say, “it’s okay, bud.  If it’ll make your tummy feel better, you can poop in that pull-up.  Which he did.

And by which time the saddest scavenger hunt began.

Here’re the pertinent things I found.  Three paper towel halves, clinging to the end of the roll.  One water bottle.  A torn out sheet from a magazine with a coupon on the bottom for Opti Free.  An empty Target bag.  A size 4 diaper.

That we’d done something similar at the library on Monday, helped.  I mean it didn’t help Monday out.   Or change the fact that I was lookin’ at a nasty in the parking lot here without wet wipe.  It helped, though, that I knew no dry paper towel was going to solve the problem.

Only even with them wet, the paper towel halves weren’t enough. So with my son still bent in half, I grabbed the magazine sheet off the floor of the front seat and finished wiping him with my coupon.  Until he shrieked that his bottom hurt.  And well…it was ‘clean’ enough.  By default.

The target bag let me exit the parking lot with dignity.  And the diaper…well, it was more like finding the winning ticket after the raffle’s all over.  Maybe less depressing.

My little boy, though, the one with a mostly clean hiny and no more tummy ache skipped back into the park to count the leaves with his sister.  

We were back on the potty train.


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