I guess the title is misleading. It makes it sound like my toddler wasn’t wearing pants. And he wasn’t. But I really want to explain to you why I didn’t have pants on while crawling after my toddler.
It all started with poop. The best stories do.
Both kids were in my lap as we watched “Let It Go” on YouTube for conservatively the 812th time that day. I still like the song, they kind of sit still, and Lillian is adorable when she sings along. She does the hand motions too. It’s great.
So we’re all sitting, watching the computer, when I smell something. Oh geez, one of the kids pooped. There went that cute moment. Well, I’ll just wait until this is over.
“Let it go, let it go…”
Why is my leg wet?
I look down, and Levi had managed to not only poop, but somehow completely miss the diaper. I don’t even know what happened. Sometimes the stars are aligned just right, the diaper’s on just wrong, and everything comes pouring out.
Now I’ve dealt with a lot of poop in my two years of motherhood, but getting pooped on always sends me into a fight or flight mode. What do I do?!
Honey, I need you to take Lillian.
Luke turned around to ask what had happened, then saw the pile on my leg. Oh. Right. Lils, come here for a sec...
With Lillian off of my lap, I grab Levi’s feet with one hand, hold him against my chest with the other, and run to the bathroom in a kind of chair pose shuffle walk. Once there, I toss a towel on the floor and put Mr. Poopy Butt on it. I then have to shimmy out of my jeans so I don’t get poop on me, him, or anything else–a task easier said than done. Levi is pretty amused by this and sits watching from the towel while taking copious mental notes to use against me in the future no doubt.
Finally I get my jeans off and it’s time to clean him up. Only problem is the wipes are in the living room. That’s where everyone keeps them, right?
I take off his semi-soiled diaper, pick him up, grab another towel, a diaper, and head back into the living room. I lay him down on the towel, reach for the wipes, and he’s off!
He is crawling as fast as he can, naked brown-smeared butt defiantly wiggling at me as he heads to the kitchen.
In actions that only made sense at the time, I began to crawl after him…
…without pants on.
I was a 31 year old woman, without pants, crawling after my completely naked son.
And this is motherhood. What to Expect needs more of these stories and less diagrams.