Going to a Homecoming game really shouldn’t be so complicated.
I had planned on going to the game for only a little bit, so I didn’t stress when I somehow managed to leave the house without the diaper bag (at least I had the baby, right?). We get there nice and early, score rockstar parking and perfect seats, and sit down to enjoy each other’s company (which you know is the only reason I went, I have no idea what football even is). Five minutes into J’s very entertaining antics, there’s a suspicious rumbling, and a very distinctive eye-watering odor coming from his general presence. Awesome. The game hadn’t even started yet. So much for just going home during halftime. Back to the car with the boy I go, sadly waving goodbye to my parking spot. At least our seats would still be waiting for us, thanks to my family.
Once at home, I change J’s pants in record time, let the dog in, give her food, and prepare to give her medicine, all the while blocking J’s efforts get into every no-no in the house. (Less than five minutes home, and the house looks like a tornado hit it. There’s not a bowl left in the cupboards, not a toy in his toybox. He even managed to empty the bottom drawer on my dresser. How does he *do* that?) I stuff the dog’s pills in peanut butter (gross), and it’s at this point that J makes a beeline to play in the dog’s water dish (aka, toilet). Normally, the doors are shut so it’s not an issue, but the dog needed a drink and we were supposed to be leaving the house, so I had opened the bathroom door.
My hands are covered in peanut butter (have I mentioned before that I’m awkward and kind of klutzy?), and in the process of running to scoop my son out of the toilet (at least it’s been cleaned today) I somehow manage to spread it to my pants, my elbow, and of course, Jayden. Lather us both up in soap (“That’s yucky!” doesn’t even begin to cover this situation), strip him out of his dripping shirt, and then remember that I never made it home to do laundry today, so the only clean thing J has is an orange shirt. Orange is The Enemy, I can’t put him in that. My sister would kill me. Suddenly I’m the tornado, destroying my semi-clean room in the effort of finding something suitably clean and un-orange for the boy to wear. J helps by removing every book off the bookshelf. Thanks, son.
I emerge from the piles of clothing triumphant, and a very happy baby shoots squealing out of the room, crawling just as fast as his little legs could propel him. Just as I’m about to catch the wee monster, he trips (that’s my boy), landing face first on the wood floor. Oh, the tears. The silent scream. Red face.
There’s hugs, kisses, nursing, and finally he’s forgotten that his mouth hurts… and instead he’s drifting off to sleep. No, baby, I paid to get into the game, and it hasn’t even started yet! (Correction: it’s starting right now!) Luckily, J became distracted by something, I have no idea what, so I stuff him in his shirt, grab the diaper bag, and out the door we go.
Only now, there’s nowhere to park. I mean, nowhere. For blocks. I should have just left the car at home and marched myself the whole way. Twenty minutes later, I’m still hunting for a spot in this state and debating just going home (but I paid to get in). My family was beginning to think I’d fallen off the planet. Finally I find a spot about 3 miles away, and I was thankful. Wrap up the boy, and off we go.
Just as I reach the bleachers, I realize that my shirt is getting wet. J must have missed the diaper, awesome. I did not grab an extra pair of pants, of course, because of the lack of clean clothes. Sure enough, when I pull him out of his little wrap cocoon, his pants are wet. Well, the boy and I are just going to have to suffer through being covered in baby pee, because there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to turn around and walk all the way back to my car now. And forget halftime, we’re fully committed to the game now. (It was actually decided after much debate between my sister and I that J had not, in fact, peed on me, but that he had gotten wetter than I realized during his Toilet Bowl Adventure. Not sure which is worse, actually.)
The thing about football games, apparently, is that they go on forever. And of course, I have no idea what’s going on, so I cheer when other people cheer, but the rest of the time I spent trying to prevent J from whacking the guy in front of us (the guy did not find this amusing) and chattering with my sister (who may have actually wanted to watch the game, I don’t know). Sometime in the last minute and a half of the game (which of course lasted at least twenty), J finally gave it up and fell asleep. Not in the wrap, as I had planned, making it easy to carry him during the long hike to the car, but on my lap, in a tangled pile of wrap and blankets.
Amazingly, he stayed asleep through the awkward walk to my sisters car and the rough hand off as I dumped him in her lap while my mom and I went to retreive my car. Then we unwrap him from the mess of blanket and I gently place him in his car seat (by gently, I mean quietly curse as I bump his head and plop him awkwardly in the seat). He didn’t even stir. I thought for sure he would wake up when I tried to get him out at home, but all that football and wiggling must have worn him out, because I got him all the way inside, past the happy dog who licked him on our way by, and into bed without so much as a whimper. Finally, sweet success.