The other day H bought two pairs of pants. Turns out he didn't like them so much (I seriously don't want to meet the person who is that long in the crotch) and they needed to be returned. Easy peasy he thought. "I'll just return them when we go to the grocery store today." I know you are all like "What?!" (cue Aziz Ansari's voice.) "Returning pants at the grocery store? Where the hell do you shop for food?" Hold up. There's a men's clothing store next door. And yes, we sometimes all go to the grocery store together because "it's fun." Heh. We have some dinner, the kids eat like zombies in front of a TV blaring Nick Jr (unheard of in our house) and then we shop. Don't hate. I know you want to live like this. It's tres glamorous.
So the pants. We head to the store. The Comedian rides shot gun in the double stroller with The Fifth Element in tow and TD tagging along. As soon as we enter the store the two older girls begin their 'Lord of the Flies' re-enactment. This happens when it is too close to dinner time. It sucks to be Piggy and the store was designated that part that night. There was yelling, running, flying shoes that got stuffed into purses and a very long line at the register. Literally every person in the store decided to check out at the same time. TD is tap dancing to entertain everyone arms flying, whacking stuff off the register. The Comedian is in full meltdown mode demanding sippy cups full of milk that we do not have in our possession and as I give H a tight lipped smile we look at our newest addition The Fifth Element who has also begun to cry. It's then that I notice why. Creeping down her pants and up her shirt is a stain of gigantic proportions that can only come from a seismic leak and not of the urine kind. It was epic. H whispered heatedly to me, "I'll stay with these two. You get her the hell out of here and change her in the car." Right. I make as mad a dash as I can with a double stroller and head to the car.
Once there it becomes apparent that this is going downhill fast. The car seat is a mess. She is soaked. Pulling off her clothes results in more mess and the changing pad is now a wreck too. This is not a sanitary situation by any means. I'm going through wipe after wipe, sticking her clothes into a plastic bag as she screams. Just then a man in an SUV pulls up behind me and lingers. Really, guy? We had parked in a part of the parking lot that didn't have a lot of cars and here I am with my back to this SUV and a defenseless, bawling, naked baby and he decides to pick this spot to just idle? I glare at him but I quickly realize he is some heated argument with the woman sitting next to him. I go back to cleaning up the wee one. Just as I think we are cleaned up enough I realize there is no spare change of clothes for her. Scratch that. There is a spare set of clothes it is just made for a two year-old and not a six week old. I curse myself out and think, "Maybe if I just get them on her real quick and into the carrier H will never notice..." The carrier that I have lined with tiny baby hats to keep her off the mess. Seems like I forgot a blanket too. This is wicked good parenting right here, folks. On go the size 24 mos shorts (totally inappropriate for the temps too, shut it.) and the equally large shirt. She is all gangly legs exposed and swimming in a ginormous tee. H comes up and gives me a look. As I explain and the kids continue their Lord of the Flies rendition turning it on each other now he suits up with the baby sling. I look at him and sigh. He looks at me and sighs. "Do you just want to go home? Shop later?" "YES!" I exhale.
We all pile back in the car. Three kids screaming as we barrel down the road towards home. H grabs my hand and smiles. We burst out laughing. Returning pants with three kids has turned us into our own sitcom with no punchline needed. Welcome back to Crazy Town.
