Horton Hears a Baby Boo!

It all happened when I picked up Baby Boo #2 from her high chair. Her chubby thighs remained glued to the high chair pad for just a fleeting moment. In that revealing instant, the pad lifted up and the nightmare was exposed.

I inhaled deeply and hesitated even as I am writing this.

An ocean of crumbs, unfinished snacks and meals lay beneath that pad. The smashed peas and damp, flattened crackers were recognizable. Most chilling, however, was the unrecognizable; the gelatinous black mass that seemed to quiver in fear under my sharply peering eye. In my panic, I imagined an eyeball and a furry, segmented leg moving among this cluster fluster. Much like Horton Hears a Who, I peered into another universe, a place made of table scraps and discarded tidbits, dried applesauce and black banana chunks, sticky, fuzzy morsels of some long ago feast.

What kind of a moldy science experiment was flourishing beneath my infant’s diapered buns? What kind of a mother allows her child to sit atop a mini landfill?

And, worse yet, how long had this garden been growing?

Dear Horton,

I know a person’s a person no matter how small,

But your world is about to suffer a terrible fall…

“Squirt , squirt, wipe, wipe , scrubbidity scrub…”

My husband giggled as he passed me in the kitchen. I glared at him, disinfectant in one rubber gloved hand, face mask twitching from my irritation. What, pray tell, is so funny?

He smiled widely, happy to shatter my delusions of cleanliness.

“She has a stash just like that in her car seat.”

My mini van? My precious mini van?!! The horror.

Author's note.....Please pardon the Mamma, as I am on a family vacation. I reached into the depths of the Mammatalk archives for this post, which originally aired in October 08. Hope everyone is enjoying their summer!

Grocery Store Panic

“I have to go potty.”

My shopping cart, filled to the rim, screeched to a sudden halt.

“What do you mean?” I asked in all my motherly wisdom.

“I have to go potty.” My three year old replied with an urgency I knew all too well.

A smoke cloud of burnt rubber hovered in aisle 8 as I accelerated past the frozen food. Much like Fred Flintstone, my stone aged feet were a blur as I weaved around old ladies and elbowed past soup stacking employees. My cart swayed on two wheels as I navigated corners.

We sprinted past the bakery without so much as a sideways glance (a first). We dodged the line in the pharmacy (without pausing for a look, listen and laugh). We crash landed just outside the bathroom door and quickly found our place at the end of a long meandering line.

I remained cool as a cucumber as I did the baby juggle in line. I kept my calm demeanor as I pacified my whiney 3 year old. I breathed deeply while I waited for ladies finishing their snail paced business. I sang softly to my two little ones as I listened to women cackle and gossip in their stalls. I averted my eyes when I saw ladies picking their teeth at the sink. I didn’t complain about the missing toilet seat covers. I didn’t grimace over the sticky floor. I restrained my belly aching over the two last squares of toilet paper. I was patient as I elevated my three year old’s buns over a sticky toilet seat. I smiled as I maintained my balance crouching in a football squat in front of yet another public toilet, baby draped over my lap and my arms aching from the weight of my three year old. But, I was not prepared for what would come next.

“Can’t go, Maybe try later.”


Pardon me as I give you a Mammatalk re-run as I am enjoying a lovely holiday with family. This post is from 6 months ago, back when I had two readers. Thanks for being so supportive, hubby and Wylie!