A Vacation Vignette

We went to the Caribbean and it was my birthday. We celebrated the day by buying incredibly
expensive passes to the luxurious waterpark and splashing in a piss-warm kiddie pool for most
of the day. (Don’t worry; it was awesome.)

Cut to the end of the day: slightly sunburned, definitely exhausted, and three Miami Vice
cocktails later, my husband darts off to do a quick birthday errand for me. He says he will be half
an hour. “No problem,” I say. I am bouncing LouLou in the shade while my MIL swims with W in
aforementioned piss-pool.

I see MIL swim/pull W to the side of the pool, so I mosey over. Then I see it: floaters. My kid has
definitely defecated in the pool. Oh, great. Thank god I am in a big floppy hat and sunglasses.
I calmly and quietly say to MIL, “He pooed.” I do not want to cause a full-scale evacuation. She
shrieks and runs from the pool. “Who? Where?”

Now I am left with a baby in arms and shit-kid in two feet of water. “Get out,” I say. Obviously he
says, “NO!” just as the lifeguard is coming over for a routine chlorine test. Shit is literally about
to get real. I throw LouLou to MIL, who is now saying, “Ew,” and, “Gross,” and, “Oh no.” I pull a
Teen Mom and manhandle him by the elbow while gritting my teeth. Did I mention husband is
not present? I half lay him UNDER a lounge chair on top of a resort towel. Watery swim diaper
poo is now running up his back and down his legs. I rip open the diaper to reveal a full-scale
tsunami of shit. If it wasn’t me it was happening to, in the middle of 500 kids, I would probably
have laughed, but I just got to work. Wipes were flying as my MIL said things like, “It’s on his
elbow,” and, “Oh My God, the towel!”

I managed to get him relatively clean and stuff the not-to-be re-worn bathing suit into a plastic
bag, but the towel; oh, the towel. I looked around and quickly shoved it into a garbage can.
There really was no choice — I would hope others in my predicament would also do the same.
However, an employee saw me and promptly shook her head and scowled at me, probably
taking me for a wasteful North American who was too lazy to take the extra three steps to the
towel receptacle. I mouthed, “It’s all shitty,” and quickly gathered my stroller just in time to see
my husband strolling back.

“What did I miss?” he says.

-Tightrope Mama

[image: swim by Sylvia Cook Photography]