Vitametavegimen

Sometimes I feel like my life is an episode of “I Love Lucy.”

That feeling has been echoed by other moms, like my dear friend, Mrs. Jay, who recently told me a story involving some orange juice and a new pack of socks. (What were the odds that one would end up spilled all over the other?)

My Lucy moment came yesterday when I was at Target. For some reason, lil’ Miss Dub has decided that:

Target + Miss Dub = Blowout.

I don’t now why. I mean, have my Target-lovin’ genes not been passed down to her? Does she not understand that the store is my salvation when it’s -10 degrees outside? Is it so wrong to ask her to hold her movement until we get home or lay out a plastic sheet on the store floor?

But, alas, she isn’t cooperating. And the last three times I’ve been there, her diaper hath given me no mercy. (Or seepage protection.)

Somewhere in the onesie aisle, I heard a sound that either indicated an incoming tsunami or a fantastic mess. After a little chiding – “Did you not promise me this wouldn’t happen, my love?” – I purchased my wares and headed to the bathroom.

But when I got to the restrooms, I found that both were being painted. At the same time. I asked if I could still use one and was informed that it was fine as long as I didn’t mind the door being open and strange men wandering about while I did my bizness. I quickly informed them that it was my little one’s bizness so it was no problem. (Had it been my bizness, I think I would have politely declined the kind offer.)

Once on the changing table, I took Miss Dub out of her carseat to discover a true disaster. I struggled to take off her soaked onesie, dirtying her and her hair in the process. I then opened the diaper - which garnered gasps from the workers peering over my shoulder – at which point I realized that I had forgotten to bring wipes.

With one hand on her tummy, I had to crank out some really hard paper towels and wet them down to vaguely replicate a wipe. Meanwhile, Miss Dub was chatting up the painters and wiggling all over the changing pad, dirtying it and her remaining clean clothes.

At this point, I started to feel my inner Lucy growing frustrated so I just starting throwing away soiled clothing. I then grabbed Miss Dub and put her under the bathroom faucet (workers still watching) and gave her a quick bath.

Finally, I put her into some new clothes, washed her pacifier (which had fallen in the melee) and put her back in the now clean (but wet) carseat.

Twenty minutes to change one diaper. That’s got to be a record. Lucy would be proud.

Had a Lucy moment lately?