The weather is getting warmer. And the sun is back. So I called my friend Ciaran and demanded she and her son meet me and the kids at her local park.
See, Ciaran is pregnant and is having her c-section Friday. But she's just come off bedrest, hasn't slept in, oh, maybe eight weeks, and is in constant pain from a baby that's all but hanging out at this point.
Otherwise, she's doing great. Her hair is just fab, long, blonde and flat-ironed. I have been rocking the 80's big hair look, but I contained it in a ponytail so as not to frighten her into early delivery (she's already in preterm labor) or scare her innocent son.
Everyone was having a lovely time. The park is small and the entire thing is shaded. I will now go off on a small rant about how all the parks in MY town were recently redone. While still in the planning stages, the head of the parks department met with local moms to get recommendations of what we'd like. The NUMBER ONE thing we all requested was that the parks have a shade structure. Guess how many have it? That's right. A big fat NONE. Not a one. And it's hot here. A lot. REALLY HOT. Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this hot (you get bonus points if you can identify what movie the last two sentences come from).
So for most of the summer, no one uses these gleaming, spanking-new play structures. Because if you touch them, you don't leave a fingerprints. You leave the first three layers of your skin.
Okay. Back on task. It got time for the kids to have their snack. They ate nicely, and even shared their grapes with Ciaran's son. Then everyone went off to play again.
Suddenly I hear Sage calling for me in her distress whine (which is different from her normal whine, in that it's a little higher pitched and more urgent). I look over, and notice a stain spreading down the right leg of her light purple pants. The same purple pants that, the only other time she's worn them, became soaked with contaminated ocean when she got a little too close to the surf.
Now, I could not figure out how this happened. She's still in diapers. So I call her over. And her walk...oh, her walk...think old-time westerns. Think cowboys. After a few days of riding in the saddle. I could almost hear her spurs clanking. Or do they jingle?
She seriously tried to walk without having to touch her pants. Go ahead, try it! It took her about 45 minutes to reach the spot where I waited, about 10 feet away. Just kidding. It was only 25 minutes. I went and got her, and we went off to the side. Where I pulled down her pants. To find a completely dry diaper. On a completely soaked child.
One of the sides had come undone. So now it was off to the parking lot. She was naked from the waist down but still was walking like she was trying to avoid inner thigh chafe.
Until we got to the parking lot, that is. Then she bolted. The exhibitionist! I grabbed her and rummaged around in the car to find a pair of Sawyer's old red sweat pants.
She was happy. And dry.
Back to the park she ran, ready to play.
I'm thinking it just might be time for pull-ups.
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