Another Reason Never to Trust Airplane Lavatories...

I probably need my head examined... I flew solo from Maryland to South Dakota this summer with a 9 month old, 2 year old, 4 year old, and 6 year old in tow.  Aside from the usual travel hassles came my lowest moment on the last commuter hop from Chicago to Sioux Falls on a small express flight.  My baby did what I new had to be coming, he pooped.  Luckily there was no loss of diaper integrity, but with over an hour of flight time remaining and extremely close quarters to non-baby civilians, I had no choice but to perform a diaper change in the most miniscule commercial lavatory in existence.   This entailed leaving my children in the hands of strangers, which left me wondering who I should feel more sympathy for- the strangers or my children.  Needless to say, my baby was not thrilled about the drop down diaper changing "table" (a term I use very loosely), and he screamed perilously as though he were having his fingernails pulled out one by one.  Then the turbulence started and the fasten seat belt light came on. Thank goodness the flight attendant was too clueless to come banging on my door and demand that I return to my seat.

You might think a mother of four children in six years would be the fastest diaper changer in the modern world, but that moment seemed like an eternity.  Baby's hands kept reaching for various surfaces, Mommy kept yelling (to nobody in particular) "Don't touch, dirty! Dirty, don't touch!"  Then it happened.  One more bump of clear air turbulence, and the open diaper catapulted off the edge of the changing "table," strafing my shirt and Lord knows what else in the process, ultimately landing poop-down on the lavatory floor.  Uuuugggghhhhhh... I think I made a noise like that, somewhere between a balloon deflating and the sound the watchman on the Titanic made after it went thunk.  

Utilizing pretty much every baby wipe and every ounce of sanitizer in my arsenal, I recovered the best I could, and baby and Mommy emerged from the lavatory about 60 seconds later looking very much the same as before excepting  huge wet suspicious spots on Mom's shirt and skirt.

Relax. Moms are always spilling poop on themselves in travel scenarios. This is nothing out of the ordinary.  That was my mantra.  Little solace did it provide me, as in six years I could never recall such a similar moment off hand. 

My mind kept thinking back to my pathetic attempts to clean the lavatory with one hand and a screaming child in the other, and very limited resources... You never know what has transpired in those bathrooms.  

Along the same vein, I no longer put any "crawlers" or toddlers on the floor of a plane.  A flight attendant warned me once that various vomits and about fifty zillion pathogen friends regularly party on the airplane floors, and cleaning those carpets pretty much never happens.

To add insult to injury, the baby kicked over my open diaper bag while everyone was disembarking.  The contents fell every and I later discovered my Kindle made a getaway; sadly lost forever and ever to Kindle oblivion. Sniff.