A Poop at the Museum

Yesterday Mr. Ibis and I took Miles to the art museum. It's free on Saturday mornings, so we packed ourselves up and went down there. As we strolled up to the front door, all three of us clean and cutely dressed, Miles sitting happily in his ring sling (more on that later), I was feeling content, put-together, perhaps even a bit smug. The perfect little family!

We had to check our diaper bag at the door. As Mr. I went to stuff it in a locker I uttered the famous last words, "I hope he doesn't poop."

We headed first to a photography exhibit and we were barely halfway through when the poop arrived. It was a loud trumpet from the baby's butt, loud enough to attract the attention of a woman standing nearby with her kids. She gave me a wide-eyed look, like, that sounded like a big one. I smiled apologetically.

Breastfed baby poop does smell, but not strong, so I debated whether to finish looking at the photos or change him right away. I consulted Mr. I and since Miles seemed content we opted to finish the exhibit. Then I felt something sticky seeping through the wrap. Shiiiit.

Apparently, having a baby in a snug sling means the poop has nowhere to go but UP. And that is where it went. We high tailed for the lobby to get the diaper bag. I went to the ladies' room and saw that there was no changing table. I stood around like a moron, perhaps waiting for a changing table to fall from the sky. Mr. I had already gone into the gift shop. Finally I decided to change Miles on a big bench near the front entrance, because there was literally no where else do it. I decided if anyone hassled me I'd just complain in my most harried-mother voice that I couldn't find a changing table.

I quickly surmised that this was no ordinary blowout. Getting the pants (overalls, OF COURSE) was easy enough but he had poop on the onesie up to his shoulder blades. I stalled until I spotted Mr. I and then frantically waved him over. As if we weren't making enough of a scene just changing Miles in the lobby, I had to have Mr. Ibis hold him up in the air while I peeled off the onesie and wiped his back down, before even getting to the diaper. This was the kind of mess that, if we were home, would have meant an emergency bath, but instead I just had to use about 25 wet wipes. In fact there was hardly even anything IN the diaper because it had all shot up and out like a poop cannon.

After all that, we still wanted to see a little more of the museum. So, and this may be a little gross but I don't care, I used a clean burp cloth to line the inside of the poopified sling so I could still use it. WHATEVER, you don't know me!

We made it through a few more rooms and snapped a photo of me with Miles by a fountain, in which I look about as tired as I felt. Miles was getting tired too, starting to lay his head on me and whimper a little, so we didn't stay much longer. All in all it was... fun? Ha.