if only it were a vacation from poop

I just got back from a fabulous family vacation in Cabo. Loved it. Warm days, beautiful clear water, delicious margaritas and gosh dang it, the best freaking guacamole I have ever tasted. The entire trip was about me finding new and innovative ways to include guacamole in my meals. Oh, who are we kidding, they were not new and innovative at all. It was more like “bring me some more chips” and “oh good, there’s a fish taco I can dip in guacamole.”

But anyway, it was truly a great trip. There is only one incident marring the lovely surface of this vacation. And it is an ugly one. It involves a diaper (Evan’s, not mine) that was horrifically dirtied the minute, and I actually do mean the actual minute, we sat down in the airplane to go home yesterday. So there I sat, holding my super stinky baby on my lap until the captain turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. Safety first! I merrily walked him down to the lavatory thinking we’d just flip down the little changing table, plop him down onto it and whisk off the offending diaper.

But NO. there was no changing table to be had and the not very helpful flight attendant refused to let me use the open space near the lavatory. Instead, he handed me a blanket and told me to change him on top of the toilet, with the lid down. I was game for it until I went in and discovered that America West has the TINIEST airplane bathrooms I have ever seen. There was barely enough room for me, let alone the squirming poopy wonder.

Not having another choice, I figured I’d just go for it and try to set a record for the fastest diaper change in history. But it was not to be.

The makeshift changing table, aka the toilet lid, was way too small. His head hung off the back while his feet kicked wildly. Once the pants were off the twisting and shrieking started. Then, once the diaper was off it was a race against time to remove all traces of poop while the twisting and shrieking continued. At one point the situation deteriorated into what can only be described as a flailing poop fling fest. I frantically pulled out wipes, dabbed and swiped at him as best I could but what can I say, there were casualties.

Like the sleeve of my shirt, for example, and the spots of poop that were probably left on various surfaces after I could no longer take the carnage and vacated the lavatory. I’m pretty sure I dropped an f-bomb in there, and those of you who know me know it’s extremely out of character.

On behalf of all parents everywhere, I blame America West. Any flight that is more than an hour long must have a proper facility to change a diaper. Otherwise, everyone suffers. Like any passenger on flight 6301 who visited the rear right-hand lavatory after we were done in there.