“I forgot to go potty,” Emma chimes from the back seat, her warning phrase.
“Honey, you're going to have to hold it, we'll stop in a bit,”says Scott. Oh, that's the decision we're making? Okay.
To be fair we had just stopped at a rest stop.
We had decided that we would stop in Montpelier for lunch, that was about 30 miles away.
“I forgot to go potty,” we hear again. I tense up, hands gripping the steering wheel.
“It's okay, she has a waterproof pad beneath her,” I say to Scott, maybe more for my own benefit. Each exit we pass looks like you have to drive quite a bit to get to the town and there was nothing off the exit.
My kingdom for a Subway.
Then we reached Montpelier, the capital of the state, surely it would be quick and easy.
“I forgot to go potty.”
We are on beautiful tree lined streets, with clean government brick buildings. And no gas stations or quick restaurants. We followed signs for restaurants and ended up in their adorable little downtown area.
“I peed,” we hear the confession. Of course she did. Good try little one. We're sorry.
“There's a Subway!” I point, “Where do I park?”
“I have no idea,” thanks for the help. I turn right and right again into a parking lot. On accident I have parked us right in back of the Subway.
I pull Emma out and change her soaked clothes. We get into the restaurant and join the line waiting to add-vocado their sandwiches. And my two year old starts running in circles, literally. In the line, running circles around me.
“You are driving me crazy,” hisses out of my mouth. I look up to a restaurant of people staring at me. Awesome. I'm that mom.
We eat. Emma only squirms her way out of the high chair once. I start to nurse Carys, she squirms, the cover flaps about, there are cries from underneath. Scott gets up to use the restroom. My phone is blowing it up with five text messages all at once. I drop it. I look down. Too bad it has to stay on the ground. The chair next to me gets pulled out. I see out of the corner of my eye the contractor sitting at the next table bend down, pick up my phone, place it next to me,
“Here, you've got your hands full,” he says.
“Thank you,” I don't even look him in the eye, it's all just too much.
Carys needs a diaper change, I gather her up and go into the restroom, no changing table. I'll just do it in the car....
Back out in the parking lot I lay my child down on the passenger seat and start changing, I see that the poop has gone up her back. As she squirms the mass of poop spreads. And as try to clean it spreads some more.
“Scott, I need your help,” I say in my CALM voice. He appears not to have heard me, as evidenced by the fact that he did not move, “Scott, I need your help,” I say a little CALMER.
“Here, there's poop everywhere, can you hold her and I'll just wipe her down,” I say handing him a naked baby. I turn to grab a wipe,
“TBTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” I turn back around and Carys has started pooping. Scott squats down and puts her toes on the ground. She happily windmills her arms while projectile yellow poop shoots onto the ground on the parking lot. He looks up at me, looks me in the eye and giggles. I feel my shoulders relax, and a smile spread across my face. Yes, this was hysterical. We cleaned her up, dug a onesie out of the bag in the back and strapped everyone in and drove in.
As we drove back down that tree lined street, I looked over and the corners of Scott's mouth were tickling upwards,
“Montpooplier,” and I laughed,
"I feel bad for the next person that parks in that space," I reply.
And forever I will think of Montpelier as Montpooplier.