O boy. I’m so far from being a yummy mummy it’s not even funny any more. I know I’m a single mother an’ all but I think this weekend I may have slipped and fallen right to the bottom of the spectrum and crossed over the line into white trash territory.
This weekend I changed Finn’s diaper on the side walk.
Yes – that’s ‘the pavement’ for you English folks reading this. Either side of the pond it’s no place to be changing a diaper.
And I didn’t just change the diaper on some secluded back street in the n’er do well part of town – oh no. I had to do it in the part of town where everyone who strolls by and everyone who lives their life there, is perfect. Their lives are perfect, their children are perfect – everything about them: is perfect.
Sure the odd thing might go wrong for them from time to time. Maybe they run into a spot of trouble with the shipments of their new line of fair trade sweat pants for their designer yoga clothing business. They might get a flat tire on the way to their mountain cabin in Big Bear. Their daughter might accidentally ingest a non-organic brownie whilst out grocery shopping with the nanny but aside from those sort of things - life is pretty sweet. These folk all have rosy cheeks and flaxen hair, they ride bikes with surfboard strapped to their backs and never fall off inspite of this (which is why they never bother to wear helmets.) The bicycle baskets are brimming with plump and juicy fruit and veg from the trendiest stall at the most local farmer’s market – all stored of course in reusable, organic cotton bags. And their perfect flaxen haired children resulting from their perfect relationships never wet through their organic cotton diapers in the middle of Beach Avenue where there are no restaurants, cafes, shops or bathrooms for acres around. And of course – none of these flaxen haired folk would find themselves changing a half naked one-year-old’s soggy Pampers directly on the side of the street.
I tried to do it in the car – honestly, but Finn’s head kept getting wedged right into the back of the car seat and I just couldn’t do it to him. O Finn. I’ve heard it said we consciously select our parents on the other side before we’re born… Darling boy what were you thinking? Did you not want to go with one of the flaxen haired, surfing board-carrying mums or where they all booked up? Oh well – you’re stuck with me now and the sidewalk diaper changing.
Finn seemed to know that something other than the ordinary everyday diaper changing was taking place as for once he stood quite still and behaved like an angel as the deed was done. I, in contrast, was so flustered I put his nappy on back to front – I haven’t done that since the day he was born!
