The Pookini Incident

My husband and I took our kids to the beach at new year, despite a pending divorce. My youngest (5) asked to buy a "boo-kini" instead of her usual one piece. The story that follows is long and runny. If you vomit easily, you might want to keep scrolling. Sooooo all was okay the first night, but temps dropped ten degrees more than average before we could try out the new bathing suit at the beach. We go to the beach after having seafood lunch at a not so well advised "pirate tourist trap." The beach is pretty much what you expect if you know full well that it's at or around 49 degrees, rainy, and high winds, BUT STILL GO TO THE BEACH. Naturally, kids strip down to skivvies and hop into waves. I put jeans over my yoga pants, over my running leggings, and every long sleeve thing I brought under my sweatshirt and jacket. (I'm a Texas girl born and bred- I don't like to be cold. Seriously I've seen snow twice in my life, and I was over it pretty quick.) We attend to this fantastic Antarctic summer day. The kids are happily splashing around. "Almost ex," and I do our best not to chill the air further by talking to each other. After about a mile of strolling in this beautiful Alaskan storm, the kids are ready for a snack, and the youngest says she must use the bathroom. We begin to head back to the truck (I say truck, but it's a big Ford Excursion).

The walk is long, and the temp has dropped from a balmy 49 degrees to a windy, miserably soupy 45. About halfway youngest decides she can't walk anymore. She's cold and needs to potty. Jokes ensue about "going in the ocean" since she's already soaked. Almost ex offers to carry small child.

(*** internal dialog alert….. disabled veteran with anger issues just offered to do something useful and selfless that will likely cause him pain which I will be blamed for….) About ten minutes pass. Almost ex keeps saying something smells. The small child complains about being cold but no longer complains about needing the bathroom. About 20 steps from the truck, "Almost ex" puts the kid down and asks her if she farted. ***deer in headlights… "no," she answers. Asked if she peed. "No," she replies.

He smells his jacket.***looks at her.

He smells his shirt. **** looks at her. "I'm cold," she offers.

That is when I pull open the back of the brand new bikini we purchased (which they have been calling boo-kini).

*** I meet eyes with almost-ex while doing EVERYTHING IN MY POWER to conceal my (totally wrong for the moment) facial expression.

“Did she….?” He trails off…

"Oh, yes, she did." I nod as if that softens the realization that vile liquid bowel movement filtered through that cute baby tankini onto his arm, jacket, shirt, and everything.

He was soaked and not from the rain- which was getting worse. Did I mention it's December 30th? I realized that moment that she wouldn't let me throw it away. Her pride would be incredibly, permanently wounded if she knew how funny I thought it was that she just emptied her bowels Dumb and Dumber style on her dad. Remarkably this trip I really didn't want to attend is looking up.

So I put on my soberest mommy face and open truck doors. We have spare clothes, but the child must be somewhat cleaned. We start dumping water bottles to clean sand and Texas beach filth off children.

The pooper, she's dubbed #2 henceforth. The older #1 it's not a favorite ranking a way to identify birth /age order. The pooper (#2) is upset that bum starting to burn from diarrhea stuck to her baby cheeks.

I tell her we need to clean the easy stuff first and to bear with me. #1 climbs into the truck and gets comfortable.

(***cue snacks and popcorn cause 7 yrs of life experience tells her she about to witness something entertaining).

"Almost ex" miraculously dawns new clothes, shoes, and dry socks, and baby wipes to clean himself. He even has a fresh warm jacket. He rolls his contaminated items into one of my fabric grocery bags, climbs into the driver's side, and starts the truck.

“Come on. Let’s go!” That’s when I stand up from my previous 90-degree position, and my head turns like the exorcist…

"I could use some help…" I turned back to the half-naked 5 yr old with excrement running down her legs. My pretty poopy baby was shivering in the rain, covered in sand and beach salt. I do my best to let her maintain the proper dignity she deserves. I rinse her with a bottle of water and peel off the top. I wrap her in the last clean towel and go for the bottoms. She looks me in the face. She's dying and so embarrassed I want to cry for her. If I could just toss her in the truck and go, I would, but my "almost ex" can't even catch a whiff of a tuna sandwich without being triggered. Putting her in the truck and driving any amount of time is not an option.

I look at her, "come on, Babylove. Let's get you cleaned up. It could happen to anyone. Don't be embarrassed. Let's get you cleaned up so we can go play and watch a movie." She seems to accept the offer when …

almost ex says, "I guess the boo-kini is a poo-kini now!!!!"

#1 and "almost ex" laugh hysterically, and sweet little #2 is shattered. She starts to cry. I'm trying to comfort and clean naked poopy stinky #2 in the rain between the truck's open doors.

I turn back to almost ex “ I NEED WATER! Is there any left?" Now it's "almost ex" who is the deer in the headlights. He stops laughing. Then dashes to the back of the truck to get water. He comes to the passenger side —not at all prepared for the poop-apocalypse he's about to witness. He opened a bottle as he was approaching. He was unprepared for the scene and spilled water on #2 when he comes to a full stop.

She begins to cry again because she thinks it's on purpose. "Almost ex" nearly vomits because he can't handle poop, and I snatch one of the bottles. He recovers but can't stop laughing.

I look right at him and say something we usually would never say “shut up!.

He pauses and looks at me, looks at #2 kid, at #1 still busting a gut, back to #2, then at me———smile fades.

“I’ll get more water.” He comes back with 3 more bottles, but the smell is too much. He gets back in the truck. I manage to peel bottoms off the baby. I hand her the wipes. "Almost ex" surrendered from wherever he had squirreled away. #1 already claimed the preferred outfit. I start trying to coax 2nd option clothes onto the pooper.

She finally agreed to underwear and shirt but wants to stand in cold instead of warm pants that aren't a matching color to the only extra shirt we have. I turn to the bathing suit bottom problem. I can clean stains later, but at this very moment, my obstacle is now soft filtered solid matter.

It is now a thin layer of poop silt that filtered away and left a layer of excrement. It is most closely identified as a new paper, poop-papyrus. It is a stinky, fresh, wet, poop paper.

The problem is that it's just thick enough to be dense, and it's not( I mean NOT coming with us). So let's back out for a minute. It's raining and 42 degrees. "Almost ex" and #1 are comfortable and warm, enjoying the show. #2 is shivering, wrapped in a towel from the waist down and wearing underwear. She's watching me closely, so I don't throw away her new favorite poo-kini bottoms.

I stand over a barrel, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do. What do I do? I shake the poo. Almost ex makes audible laughter. I glare. Shake. Ding. Shake again. Ding!.

A chunk is dislodged, making a splash ding when it hits the barrel. I lurch. #1 joins the laughter. I lurch again and compose. I lurch. Shake harder, slapping the side of barrel, lurch, poop-papyrus peels some but not completely.

I'm fighting hard now not to throw up. This is a watershed moment for me. I'm desperately trying to preserve what's left of my baby's dignity while husband and the other child laugh hysterically. For a moment, I consider hitting almost ex in the face with baby poo-kini; instead, I give it another sling. Slap! Ding! The two in the truck erupt again as do I not because it's funny but because something splashed in my face at that time. I blink, "it's not poop."

I lie to myself, blinking away poo. The poop is free, and pretty bikini bottoms can be tightly bound now in a bag to be dealt with later. #2 is briskly put in the truck sans pants and wrapped in a towel. I blink back tears (and probably poop) get into the truck. "Let's go" we go back and finish the trip.

In retrospect, parts of the story are funny. It really drove home the lack of empathy, my "almost ex" models for #1. They still laugh about it. Recently #2 had a pee accident wearing the same poo-kini and joked about it being a pee-kini. I'm glad she developed a sense of humor about it. I hope it's genuine. It bothers me that I couldn't protect her from being mocked by her big sister and father despite my best efforts. I think maybe the joke is on them in the long run. #2 will one day see the genuine humor of the moment. However, almost ex must face the fallout of our divorce and his very, very bad behavior. #1 will struggle with the absence of a genuinely loving relationship with her sister until she understands that she was conditioned to destructive behavior and copes with that. As for myself, I hope to accept that our family, while fully flawed, are a family, and it is what it is. We carry with us the good and the bad. Maybe our journey divides here and there, but we will always remember the poo-kini incident.