A New Olympic Sport

I'm in the backseat of the car. Pulled over on the side of the road. Beads of salty sweat have started to form on my face.I'm contorted into a position I'm sure I haven't seen since high school gym class or that yoga session I did a few years back. My legs are cramping up and I have a kink in my neck. The windows are getting steamy as the heat inside the car rises. No, I wasn't up to anything nearly as bawdy as it sounds. But let me tell you it was certainly as dirty. I was changing a diaper.

As I mentioned yesterday, we spent the weekend in Bonavista attending a lovely wedding. Making our way back to town on Sunday morning, we were somewhere between Port Union and Port Rexton when my darling boy put on his poo face. Yep. All red, scrunched and grunty, we immediately knew what he was up to. Shortly thereafter a certain parfum d'boy confirmed it. And while my boy is ok to hang out in a wet diaper pretty much all day if you left him alone (which, for the record, we don't!), he is not ok sitting in his own poo and let's us know it. Though really, I don't blame him.

Fortunately, we were planning to stop at the Two Whales Cafe in Port Rexton to grab a couple of decent coffees for the road, so it made sense to change him there. We pulled into the cafe and Des went in for the coffees while I tackled the backseat diaper change. My theory was it was unlikely the cafe had a change table in the washroom, so I'd end up laying the boy on the floor and I was convinced the backseat of our car was probably cleaner. In hindsight, while the car might have been cleaner, the washroom floor was likely more spacious. 20/20 indeed.

Of course, with the car seat back there there's only 2/3s of the backseat left to use. I couldn't open the door and lean into the car thanks to the ongoing dreadful weather saga that has been our so-called summer. So that left me sitting on about 1/3 of the seat and, well, you can do the math from there. I first hauled out all the gear I'd need from the diaper bag crammed on the floor by my feet - clean diaper, wipes, cream and change pad - and set myself up. Stretching myself across the great divide of the car, I managed to get the fragrant, whiny boy out of his seat onto the change pad. I stripped off his pants and sweater (thanks again to the summer that wasn't), unsnapped his onesie and got down to business on his business.

Same crap, different day :)
This was one of our warmer days, so I could stand outside for the task at hand!

But alas, no sooner was the diaper untabbed, he decided to pee. Anyone who has had boys knows what kind of disaster that is - it sprays up and out and over covering everything in it's path. Instinctively, I cup my hand over the warm stream, attempting to contain the damage as best I can (and  yes that's about as unfun as it sounds) and succeeded in redirecting most of the spray back into the already dirty diaper. However, Hudson did manage to soak his onesie, the change pad, the clean diaper and his rattle toy thingy enough that it was all rendered unfit for further use at the present time. Sigh. 

I contort myself into another position to get another diaper, another onesie and another toy out of the diaper bag and re-contort back into position to get this mess cleaned up. I roll the boy slightly to the left to dry off the change pad, which is thankfully vinyl. I then strip, wipe, cream and diaper the boy and manage to redress him in his clean shirt and his pants, deciding not to attempt putting the sweater back on - it was now warm enough in the car anyways, if only due to the panting and sweating I had going on. Phew, there that's done.

Or not. Just as I'm bagging up the dirty diaper and laundry, glancing longingly out the window to see if my espresso is en route, the poo face makes an encore appearance. You have to be kidding me kid?! But alas, kid he does not, just grunt and scrunch. I wait it out this time. I am making sure he is done this business before I go back in. Sigh. Then once again I twist myself around for new diaper supplies and re-twist for more undressing and undiapering, with some praying that the pee stream is not also planning it's encore. I re-wipe, re-cream, re-diaper and re-dress the boy. Phew, there that's done. Again.


Just then my darling husband appears with coffee and sweets and not a moment to soon. I enlist his help in getting the boy back in the seat while I tidy up the remnants of the event all while wiping the sweat from my brow and warding of the charlie horse that's threatening to make it's cameo. In all seriousness, if you've never changed a child in the backseat of a car, I assure you it should qualify as a new Olympic sport. It has sweat, panting, muscle-cramping and requires good balance, timing and determination. Though, by that criteria I guess the more bawdy backseat activity you were all thinking of earlier would also qualify. Somehow I doubt the IOC will go for that. 

But I digress. After all my hard work, the boy was smiling once again and, thanks to the americano, sweet treats and the abundance of hand sanitizer that I allowed me to enjoy it, so was I. And yes, you can just call me Mrs. Olympian from here on out.