Part 1 of The Murphy’s Law of Vacations: A Special Addition of “What the frak?” Friday

Friday’s “What the frak…?” moment (WTFM) is brought to you by………..

The Murphy’s Law of Vacations: if something can go wrong, it will go wrong.  Horribly wrong.

Was this an awesome week of vacation?

Yes.

Did everything go swimmingly well and without so much as a hiccup?

Hell. No.

It called for a Special Three Part Vacation Addition of “What the Frak?”

And yes, I realize it is no longer Friday. I started writing this on Friday. You’ll have to wait for Part 3 to hear about why no post occurred on its usual day.

Without further ado, here is Part 1 of this vacation’s lowlights and “what the frak?” moments.

Disclaimer: Part One is not for the faint of heart, those that wish to remain in blissful ignorance about what can occur when a diaper fails, or those that feel any sentence that contains the words “excrement,” “crap,” “potty,” “poop,” or any other synonym of these should never be written.  Much less read.

Part 1 of the Special Three Part Vacation Addition of “What the frak?”

The Airplane Poopapalooza–  It was something I prayed would never happen when The Tackler was younger. The Airplane Gods listened. However, when we flew out to Colorado last Sunday, they were still nursing hangovers and too tired to help.

The kicker was, it was potentially avoidable. My daughter was in my lap. I smelled it. I (unfortunately) could almost taste it, so potent was the production.

But our airplane only had one changing station (but two bathrooms) and all of the babies on board wanted a piece of the action.

We had to wait.

And wait.

Then a wet sensation crept into my hand.

And I knew.

I knew I was in trouble.

I prepared the arsenal while I waited: two plastic bags, one for the diaper, one for her now dirty clothes.

Then I waited.

And waited.

People stared at us as the stench invaded the area around our seats, where I stood in vain attempt to keep Lil Diva happy.

And finally, it was our turn.

It was worse than I’d imagined.

Whoever approved the changing station setup for airplanes needs to be trapped on an airplane with a child of every age and size that is not potty trained and be forced to change diapers in that speck of a bathroom on a changing table that might fit a newborn.

Lil Diva is only 16 months old, and ranks at the 50% mark for height.

Her butt barely fit onto the table. How could you possibly change a two year old? Or worse, a child the size of the Tackler who was over age three before potty trained?

There is no way it would remotely be possible.

As it was, my petite Diva was angled in order to squeeze in.

My elbows banged the walls as I attempted to set up.

I placed one plastic bag on top of the toilet – under the changing table, and one in the sink. Her clean change of clothes clamped between my legs.

No room remained to lay the box of wipes except in the Danger Zone.

The second I laid her onto the table, whatever hadn’t run down her leg, squished up the back.

As I carefully extracted a protesting Diva from her clothing, the pilot turned on the seat belt sign.

Turbulence. Lots of turbulence.

Going back to my seat at this point was not an option.

I tried in vain to prevent the toxic mess from spreading as I was forced to use the tiny mirror to even see the Diaper Disaster Zone thanks to the angle of her body.

Mass quantities of tissue provided by the bathroom and a plethora of wipes were required to clean up the foulness that had spread.

Ten to fifteen minutes passed of me trying to keep my balance as the plane shook – my shoulders occasionally crashing into the walls, while Lil Diva attempted every means of escape.  My hands went into Mommy Octopus Mode as they switched between holding her legs out of the way and preventing them from stomping into the soupy mess while wiping down over half of her body where it had already spread.

I wish this was an exaggeration.

The kids have a sweet moment sharing a seat - before Lil Diva's diaper explosion.

Fastening her clean diaper onto her was a dance in near futility as she rolled and twisted, wanting out of the smaller-than-broom-closet-space.

Finally, we emerged victorious.

Except for the stench the wipes failed to erase from her skin.

I had to drop her off with Daddy as I returned to the bathroom to wash my hands, an impossibility with her dirty clothes and feet extending into the sink with her in there.

As I scrubbed them furiously, I glared at the changing table and found myself thinking…. “What the frak??!?!”

Stay tuned for parts 2 and 3…..

Did you have a “what the frak?” moment this week?

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About Kelly K @ Dances with Chaos

Kelly K has learned the five steps to surviving of motherhood: 1) Don't get mad. Grab your camera. 2) Take a photograph. 3) Blog about it. 4) Laugh. 5) Repeat. She shares these tales at Dances with Chaos in order to preserve what tiny amount of sanity remains. You can also find her on her sister blog, Writing with Chaos (www.writingwithchaos.com) sharing memoir and engaging in her true love: fiction writing. It's cheaper than therapy.
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16 Responses to Part 1 of The Murphy’s Law of Vacations: A Special Addition of “What the frak?” Friday

  1. I’ve had that EXACT what the frack moment! So sorry you had to experience it too!

    Maija

    • It was definitely one of those parenting moments I would have happily lived without.

      Perhaps Mommy Bloggers can band together to get at least one decent option to change a baby on a plane. Had she been any larger, or if the Tackler had done this last June when we flew, I would have had to change him in the aisle – because he’s twice the size she is now. And I know the other passengers would have loved that – and the stench that would have lingered the rest of the flight.

      So sorry you’re also part of the Airplane Poopapalooza Club.

      • Heather (HappyHatchling) says:

        Yes! Those bathrooms are impossible! We once had a blow-out with 30 minutes left in the flight and I chose (for better or for worse) to wait til we got to the airport. Still not sure if I made the right choice.

        Another fun moment from my travels was when our flight got delayed 4 hours so we ended up flying at midnight with our (16 mo). We got onboard and got delayed on the tarmac. THEN, she got sick and we got to use all the paper baggies from our row, the next row, and the row behind us. *shudder* If you make it through the poop or puke moments. You can make it through ANYTHING.

        • We had over half of our flight left – so delaying was not an option. In the 10-15 minutes between “Bowel Evacuation” and “Finally Getting Gaining Access to Sorriest Excuse for Changing Table Ever” the seats around us were giving me looks as the stench spread. To which I could only emphatically show them my changing pad, bags, and diaper in my hands as I shrugged and went, “I’m waiting for the bathroom.” The longer we waited, the more it spread, so I’m certain both me and CG would’ve been coated in crap had we waited.

          I am curious as to whether the flight attendants would have even let me go into the restroom had it been two minutes later when the Fasten Seat Belt sign and turbulence kicked in. By the time they did it, she was half stripped and coated in it, so leaving the bathroom was not an option.

          On the positive side, you can’t really fall over in the in bathroom even while standing… I think it’s more secure than your seat belt…

          I pray I never get the throwing up on a flight. Or really, anywhere. My gag reflex has a definite peer pressure complex and wishes to join in if I witness the blowing of chunks.

          And you’re right – surviving those moments makes the little things others stress out on seem minor by comparison.

          Thanks for reading!

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  3. Trish Loye Elliott says:

    OMG! So feeling bad for you right now. (I’m sorry, but I also laughed so hard I snorted.) We’ve all had moments like that, but everytime I’ve had one I remember my friend. She was traveling with her 2yo and 4yo and the 2yo got diarrhea. She ran out of diapers, plastic bags and everything. By the time the plane landed four hours later she and her child were both covered in poop, both in tears and she was swearing never to travel alone with children again.
    I always think of her when things are going bad. It can always get worse I guess. I hope your vacay got better rather than worse. Can’t wait to hear what happened next!

    • Ok… your friend’s experience has just convinced me to never travel alone with my kids until they are both fully potty trained. Dear God.

      The flight attendants had plastic bags, and gave me the ones for the diaper and the clothing (as that was one thing I forgot to pack) as no one wished to spend the rest of the flight smelling Lil Diva’s work.

      I’m glad you found my tale amusing – I wrote about it six days after the fact and tried to view it with a humorous angle, aided by it being In the Past. Good to know I succeeded. 🙂

      And yes.. the basic rule of Mommyhood – it can always get worse.

      As Part 3 will demonstrate. When I get the chance to write it.

  4. Pingback: Part 2 of The Murphy’s Law of Vacations: A Special Addition of “What the frak?” Friday | Dances with Chaos

  5. educlaytion says:

    Ooh *shivers and moves on to parts 2*

  6. Oh my goodness— this sounds AWFUL. Thank god, mine didn’t have nearly as big of a poop. BUT I too, thought— who the hell can fit on this damn “changing table” if my 20lb. 14mo’s head is hanging off the side because she can only fit on an angle???

    Also— you would have thought with the STENCH and all, that SOMEBODY would have let you go first. That’s why you never get a seat at the back of a plane. Poopy babies waiting for the bathroom.

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