Commando

Let me start by apologizing for it being so long since my last post. We all know how the holidays can be. I have so many stories to tell from the past few weeks. We wrapped up the Thanksgiving holiday with a trip to the ER. Our son had RSV, which was an awful experience and my heart goes out to any family that has endured the shitty virus. It was a horrible week that I had me exhausted, worried, and feeling stressed beyond belief. Thankfully, we are on the mend.

Now, let’s dive into this past weekend’s story. Saturday was the epitome of my Mom persona. In all other areas but motherhood, I am prepared, thoughtful, and organized. Not when it comes to being a mother, I tend to wing it, make it up as I go, and see where the chips fall.

On Saturday, little man had his weekly swim lesson. The day started off rocky; my husband and I argued all morning about if we should go or not. After being sick all week, we decided he was in good enough shape to enjoy a dip in the pool. We packed-up (which is code for me shoving a bunch of shit into a beach bag) and headed out the door.

Upon parking, I realized that I didn’t recall grabbing a swim diaper. My fears were confirmed as I frantically dug through the haphazardly packed bag. My husband was now annoyed and frustrated. I wasn’t sure what to do. The boy is getting more excited and can’t wait to get in the pool. At this juncture, we are whisper fighting in the stall. You know that hushed-tone that is still very clearly yelling, just quieter. It is that tone that allows the two individuals fighting to pretend that they aren’t really fighting and that no one around can hear them not fighting.

At this point, the husband wants to leave and is blaming me. I’m pissed and blame my husband because he should have been more helpful instead of rushing me out the door. I try telling my husband the front desk sells towels and swim trunks; I bet they sell swim diapers, too. The husband insisted they didn’t sell them; he was sure because he checked when we came in. Finally, in a defeated manner, I agree to put a regular diaper on the boy so he can play for a just a few minutes before we leave.

As we expected, yet somehow still not prepared for, as soon as our son entered the pool, the diaper began to release bubbles. So many bubbles up the front and back of his swim trunks. It began to swell.

Within just a minute or two, the kid couldn’t even walk due to the expanded diaper. He swayed like an obese sumo wrestler, lifting each leg (first) out to the side and (then) up in an attempt to waddle around. I had to get him out and changed before the diapers, which don’t last night without leaking, somehow manage to soak up the entire pool. Just as other families were beginning to arrive, we got out and started to gather my mess of a bag to leave.

One of the other mothers, we had chatted with a few times asked why we were packing up. I laughed and said we weren’t staying since I forgot a swim diaper. She very kindly mentions that she always packs a few extra and would happily give us one. Embarrassed, I say that would be great so the little one could stay and play. She opens a neatly packed bag, where everything was organized and quickly hands me an extra diaper.

We stayed for swim lessons, and the kid had a blast. Swim is probably one of his favorite things we do. After class, back in the dressing room, I realized I only packed one regular diaper, which has fully absorbed half the pool water. I look at my husband, who says, “Commando?” We put on our son’s pants, with no diaper, and race to the car, tempting fate. At this point, we have nothing left to lose.

I do not have a neatly packed bag. I never remember extra of anything. Honestly, I am lucky if I have one of something I need. If I make it out of the house with myself, a kid, and less than two trips back inside, I call that a win. On the way out, we pass back by the front desk. Swim diapers cost $1.

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