My son is suffering from a condition I’ve dubbed Bad Time Dumping Syndrome (BTDS). What are the symptoms? Unleashing a fury in his diaper at the most inopportune moment possible: at a store with no bathroom and/or changing table, at the pediatrician’s office right before his weigh in, or in his car seat on the way to music class–especially if we’re running a few minutes late. But yesterday took the (Bat Mitzvah) cake.
Alex is literally an extension of me 24/7; I have never left him with anyone besides my Mom and Mom-in-law. Since they were obviously required at Ashley’s Bat Mitzvah and it’s impossible to tame a toddler long enough to endure hours of Hebrew, I trusted dear family friends of 40 years–who happen to be a nurse and a firefighter with four grandchildren–to hand deliver Alex right before the conclusion of the service. All went perfectly according to my Type A plan; he arrived dapper in his stylin’ suit with neatly combed hair and a clean face (proof G-d was indeed with us) with just ten minutes left of the ceremony. As discreet as I could be in the front row, I quickly exited to scoop my son out of her arms in anticipation of triumphantly returning back to my seat with my little Jewish stud.
Just then I smelled it…that unmistakable stench. Frankly, I am surprised the whole congregation didn’t get a collective instant perm from a whiff of it, too (my son can clear out a room). BTDS struck again.
Does my kid have a sensor in his butt or something? How does he always manage to upstage my plans with poop?
Changing his stinky stealth sh*t required a two-person operation on the bathroom sink counter. Primped and prettied up, I managed to protect my dress from the dung and squash the sounds of the Rabbi calling for me in the background (as a fellow victim of BTDS, my husband knew exactly what I was doing and covered for me). Our family friend helped me re-dress my son, cleaned the sink, tamed the offensive odor, and discarded the dirty diaper outside of the Estate to be kind to our guests. I don’t make enough money to re-pay her for her exemplary service in the call of duty.
Do you have a child who suffers from BTDS? Am I the only Mommy who has to deal with its devastating side effects? BTDS truly…wait for it…STINKS!