An Oldie, But A Goodie

I don't know why I was reminded of this little story the other day. It might have been because my sister had called from the airport during a layover to relay her woeful tale of traveling with her 3 and 1-year olds. (That deserves a blog in and of itself.) I think I felt some sense of relief at the realization that I don't have any 3 or 1-year olds anymore. But I do remember those days....

One such day I was sitting in the office of a WIC social worker (or whatever they are). I don't want to complain about the WIC folks (oh, okay, yes I do)-- because, hey, they provided me with enough cheese, eggs and milk to make the world's biggest omelet ever. And for that, I am extremely grateful. But accepting these gifts did not come without a price. It is very humbling to be subjected to the same lectures that your average grade-schooler receives in their health units. (Fruits and vegetables are good for you! Eat more of them! We're not going to actually provide you with any, but perhaps you could buy some to throw into the giant omelet you're going to make with all the milk, eggs and cheese we're going to give you!) But I digress....

At WIC appointments your children are usually weighed and measured. Fine. Whatever floats their boat. But I ask you; why do health professionals always insist on taking children's diapers off to weigh them? I'm serious! Think about it-- diapers weigh next to nothing. And whatever currently is in the diaper was in the child just moments before, so what's the difference? So, when the lady asked me to remove LM's diaper I politely suggested we leave it on-- much safer, you know. She politely disagreed and insisted I take the diaper off per proper protocol.

Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea. But the smugness of this gal's attitude toward me prompted me to allow her to "make her own bed", so to speak. Heh, heh, heh! So, I took the diaper off.

LM did not disappoint. He squatted and took a dump right in the middle of her floor. But he didn't wait around to finish the job-- he took off running mid-plop and scattered a few chunks behind him as he flew. And, as if he hadn't already done a stellar job, he kept on running in the small office until he eventually retraced his path and stepped in his own poo. This he tracked around on her carpet until finally I had gathered my senses enough to catch and re-diaper him.

I didn't know whether to high-five the little dude or to be mortified. Needless to say, our appointment that day was one of the shortest (and funnest) I'd ever had at the WIC office. The lady ushered us out bemoaning the fact that her carpet was defiled for the rest of the day and would need to be professionally cleaned. (Hey, lady, don't say I didn't warn ya!)

I hope that sweet little social worker learned something that day. I know I did! I learned that the only weapon you need to bring down those who stand against you is a small undiapered boy. So, my sister, if you are reading this right now-- I suggest that the next time a flight attendant is so rude you quietly remove Mister's diaper and let him handle it from there. I have a feeling his actions will speak louder than your words....