I’ve debated sharing this story because, honestly, it’s embarrassing and I feel like I failed as a mom on so many levels. But… I think it needs to be told—maybe as a warning, maybe as comic relief for parents everywhere. Fair warning: this involves way too much information… and poop.
Today, after picking up Sadie from school, we went to the flood wall so I could get a run in, and the girls could play at the park afterward.
After my run, I collapsed at a picnic table, drenched in sweat, watching my babies laugh and play. I promised myself I’d join them as soon as I caught my breath. That’s when I noticed Sadie walking toward me, her shorts… wet. I assumed she’d peed out of her diaper—no big deal.
But as I got closer, the smell hit me. It wasn’t pee. Not a big deal, I thought. Poopy diapers happen. I started to change her, and that’s when I realized—oh no. This wasn’t just a diaper mishap. This was a full-blown poop-tastrophe. I’m talking the kind of poop you usually see in a newborn: all over, up and down, spreading everywhere. Clothes, hair, even shoes—it was a disaster.
I grabbed a diaper and the wipes I had with me. Only four wipes. FOUR. This situation required a pressure washer or fire hydrant-level cleanup, not a measly four wipes. I frantically searched the van for more, while Sadie just stood there—naked, covered in poop, in the middle of an empty parking lot.
And then it happened. That unforgettable sound: SQQQUUUEEEAAAKKK. I looked up. Of course she had climbed back on the slide—naked, poop-covered, leaving a skid mark of disaster all the way down.
At that point, I gave up. I chased down Layla, wrapped Sadie in a blanket, and buckled them into their car seats. We left the park, but leaving the mess wasn’t an option. Arionna was home, deathly ill with a stomach virus. I couldn’t risk anyone else getting sick from this poop trail.
We live five minutes from the park, so I ran home, grabbed Clorox wipes that were conveniently on the porch from yesterday’s cleaning, and rushed back. The park was still empty. I parked the van by the slide, left the girls buckled in, and went to work.
Cleaning the slide was… a challenge. The top and bottom were easy, but the middle? Out of reach. I tried climbing, but remember: I just ran a mile and a half, it was 90 degrees, and I am out of shape. Finally, I had a “brilliant” idea: go down the slide while wiping. Feet first, on my stomach, one hand on the rail, the other wiping. Picture 254 pounds of sweaty, flailing chaos flopping down a kids’ slide. Not graceful. Not attractive. But effective.
Finally satisfied, I looked up and froze. A family had arrived, sitting in their car, staring at me like I had lost my mind. Did they see the full chaos? Probably. Did I care? Not at that point—I was just dying of embarrassment.
I rushed to throw away the wipes, got back in the van, and looked down. Poop. On my shirt. Of course. Feet first had done a number on me. I wasn’t risking my seatbelt. I wasn’t risking a ticket or a hospital visit for not wearing one. So… I drove home in my bra.
We are home now. Alive, showered, slightly traumatized, but okay.
The moral of the story? Always bring extra wipes, extra clothes, extra blankets—extra everything. Don’t clean out your car. And if you aren’t emotionally or physically prepared to roll around in someone else’s feces… maybe consider a condom.
You’re welcome.
