But whatever. That was Sunday. It's Tuesday, now, and I've moved on, except today brought a new kind of stink. A new kind of... ahem.
Basically, it went like this: Archer chugged a liter of water on our daily stroll to the local boulevard. We had lunch with friends. Browsed Soleil's new organic baby store, which had its grand opening last week. Had Pinkberry for dessert. La-di-da... I noticed a drip, drip... drip. On the pavement... coming from... my dress, which was soaked.... With urine. Apparently Archer's water chug-a-thon was more than his Huggie could handle. He soaked through his diaper. Then his pants. Then my dress. And my leggings. Awesome.
Unfortunately, even though I had seemingly packed the entire contents of my house in my new humongous stroller, I didn't bring a change of clothes for Archer. A diaper, yes. But no change of clothes. And obviously no change of clothes for me. But, whatever. Being peed on is no where near as bad as being stranded ten blocks from home with a stroller the size of Texas and a soaked child with no change-of-clothes. I had no choice but to strip him down on the sidewalk and wrestle a new diaper on him in the grass of someone's yard. Of course, I had nothing to dress him in, so once I got the diaper on him, he took off running down the boulevard in nothing but a diaper and socks.
"Archer! Come back!"
But he wasn't listening.
Soaked in urine, I chased after him, finally wrestling him to the ground. "Your shoes! At least, we should put on your shoes!"
He was embarrassed was the thing. He was mortified. He looked up at me with this sort of understanding sadness. He had peed his pants in public and he understood. I carried him the six blocks home. In a diaper and Vans. Soaked in urine. Pushing my huge yellow stroller. And I cried. Because it was a long day. A long weekend. Because shit happens and you flush the toilet. But sometimes it isn't so easy. Sometimes a little boy drinks too much water and soaks through his clothes. Sometimes a tree root breaks a sewage pipe and suddenly there is shit all over the bathroom. And sometimes it's too much to handle. Even for me, who has everything. Who is healthy and happy most of the time. I mean... Who am I to even flinch at pee on my dress and poop on my shoes when there are so many people who live in pain and discomfort? Every fucking day. Who have to get on an airplane and fly home to nobody. To a hospital. Full of doctors. Nice doctors, sure. But still...
Bathroom rugs can be thrown away. Dresses can be dry-cleaned. There is always tomorrow, after a bad day. There is always waking up fresh and new. For me. But not for everyone. And that's fucked. Totally fucking fucked.
I dropped Scarlett off at the airport today. I hate saying goodbye. It was hard enough leaving her the last time, getting on a plane and going home. But this time was even more difficult. Because I was sending her back, alone and NO ONE should have to deal with Cancer alone. Especially someone who kicks everyone else's ass when it comes to being amazing. Someone who deserves to have a home. And an infinite supply of kisses on the cheeks. And no more pain.