That, my friends, is the sound of me tooting my own horn. I am quite proud of my big parenting win from last weekend.
We were having a great time visiting our hometown of Atlanta. We kept deciding to stay another night until we had been there 6 days and 5 nights. Two trips to the museum of natural history, one to the botanical garden and one very anticipated trip to the zoo.
The zoo was my idea. When M and I were in California a couple months ago, we went to the San Diego zoo. M kept saying, “Let’s go.” Animal after animal, very little sustained interest. So, I thought Zoo Atlanta would be a chance for zoo redemption. We got there early and there were only a handful of other people in the whole place. It was kind of awesome.
The flamingos were first. I waited for M’s reaction. “Let’s go.” Oh shit. Here we go again. But then it got better. He was having a blast running around the practically empty zoo, slightly interested in the animals. He rode the carousel and the train and was SO happy. Then, we indulged in some really healthy hotdogs and chips.
Soon after sitting down to eat, my boy ended up in a puddle of his own urine. I mean, full-bladder emptied. My boy has been potty trained since he was 20 months old and has had exactly two accidents out in public since. So, I was woefully unprepared when he soaked his pants completely. No change of pants. No change of socks. Nothing.
So when S came back from the bathroom, carrying a bare-assed toddler, I knew I had to jump into action. The thought of having to tell M that we had to go because he wet his pants didn’t feel like and option. I remembered that bathroom had a hand dryer. I spent the next thirty minutes burning my hands under the dryer until his pants were dry enough to put back on to continue the day.
M didn’t know what I had done. He didn’t know there was a crisis. He didn’t know that he had done something unexpected. He didn’t know that people from neighboring tables were looking at the lesbians who let their child sit naked at a restaurant. He didn’t know any of that. And that, my friends, was my parenting coup. Toot, toot!