And then there's the rest of my life...

I read recently in an article that one of the things that bugs flight attendants most is when people change babies right there at their seats on the tray tables. Their contention was that it's not sanitary and there are changing tables available on the plane. To which assertion I say um, duh and uh uh! I mean, yes, it's not sanitary to change a diaper anywhere, really, but one does what one must. And really, airline employees are complaining about hygiene on planes? I think that ship has sailed, folks, to mix metaphors egregiously. And I've been on many planes where there are no changing tables whatsoever, so then what do you do? Sheesh!

All of this is by way of set up for a recent adventure, during which, while I was in a dressing room of my local discount emporium trying on some much needed shorts with both boys, Baby E had a blowout of epic proportions. I'm talking out the back, through his shorts, down his legs, everywhere. So, since I was half dressed and already in a place that had a convenient bench and I had my diaper bag/purse with me, I changed him right then and there, on top of a plastic shopping bag from the previous store, which I then used to dispose of the diaper and handful of wipes it took to get him even close to clean and to wipe down the bench just in case. And after all this, the dressing room attendant practically had a FIT when I came out, huffily telling me, among other choice nuggets, "we HAVE restrooms, you know!" Actually, I did know that. I also know that you frown on half naked women wandering through your store carrying a veritable pile of wriggling, unhappy poop and dragging along his loudly uncooperative older brother, so I chose the lesser of two evils.

All of which is part of my rant for the day, against people who treat mothers and their children and their biological needs as some sort of personal insult or cosmic error or insufferable and eternal annoyance. Would I rather not be up to my elbows in excrement in the middle of a dressing room? You betcha. Would I rather be standing by a lovely changing table than changing my child on the floor/a bench/my lap/the closest flat surface? Of course. Would I enjoy not having a child who happens to have all sorts of gastrointestinal distress going on right now? For sure.

BUT. These things happen. They do. Even with the best planning, the best preparation, this sort of disaster is unavoidable. And I really appreciate it when people feel that their role in this situation is to exacerbate the problem by passively or aggressively confronting me and treating me and my kids and all the other mothers and kids out there in occasional similar situations like, ahem, crap. Women and children and their needs are a fact of life people. Nay, they ARE life. So please, please, cut us some slack and get over us!