Well, it’s been a while since I posted, I haven’t been able to chronicle my cooking adventures well as of late because poor little Vego Sausage hasn’t been feeling the best. The past five days she’s been quite unhappy and wanting lots of Mumma (read: booby) time.
We had a *fun* little excursion on Friday. I wanted to go in to Target to get a double doona for Sausage’s bed so after a bit of an intense morning we went in. I thought it would be an easy trip, park, walk with her in the Olives & Applesauce carrier, get the doona, get back to the car, go home. Easy. Right? Well…maybe not so.
I found the doona in Target easily enough and Sausage decided she wanted to wander around, not too hard I think. I ask one of the shop assistants where the doona covers are and while they are taking forever trying to find out I notice Vego Sausage has glazed over. Uh oh. Teething poo time. I smell it before I get close to her. Great. It’s a bad one. I tell the shop assistant I need to change that nappy. Now. She’s faffing about trying to show me the donna covers. No, I don’t think you understand. I need to change this nappy. Now. Right. Now. She’s still trying to figure out these damn doona covers. Look , if you don’t show me a place I can change this nappy it’s going to overflow it’s hideousness all over your floor. Okay, that gets her attention. I get the joy of changing this most hideous nappy in the change rooms of Target *vom*. I realise I have no wet bag or plastic bag to put this grotesque thing into. Great. I wrap it in two cloth shopping bags. They do nothing to mask the scent. I need to pay for this doona and leave Target. Stat.
We come out of the change rooms and I start heading toward the escalator. Vego Sausage has other ideas, now she has freed herself of the nappy of doom she is racing gleefully down the aisles. I am racing after her, the scent of nappy of doom on me, in my bags. Vego Sausage is racing, super excited. I assume she’s excited just to be racing around. But no. Up ahead I see them. Oh no. Bins. Mini wheelie bins. Heaps of them. I can hear her now “BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNN BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNN BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Vego Sausage is in Bin Heaven. She races over to a white on, grabs it and starts wheeling it around. Bins and ‘doilets’ are Vego Sausage’s favourite things at the moment. Oh joy of all joys. I was hoping to be able to pick her up, put her in the O & A, pay for our doona and be on our way. But no. Now we have a bin. I know already that I will be purchasing this bin. She is in heaven. It would be like murdering a puppy to take this bin away from her now. Okay I think, we’ll just take the bin and pay for it. No. Vego Sausage needs to rampage around the shop with her bin, screeching “BIN BIN BIN BIIIINNNNNNNNNN” at the top of her lungs. You can see all the people staring at this woman with the crazy looking baby who loves a bin. Stinking like a nappy of doom. You can see them thinking ‘Wow, control that child’; ‘Shouldn’t that child be in a PRAM?’; ‘What is that SMELL!?!’.
I finally muster the courage to take VS and her bin down the escalator. Cue strangled screaming, interspersed with sobs of ‘biiiin bin biiiin’. No one on the escalator thinks to move out of the way or offer the woman carrying a doona, screaming toddler and white mini wheelie bin assistance. We get to the bottom and I put the bin down, off VS races with her bin, occasionally crashing down and only being upset because the bin has fallen over, not due to any personal bodily injury.
Now you’re thinking it must be over right, that’s the end of the story and the day improves from here? Well my friend, that is where you are wrong. Now we have to line up at the checkout and pay for the bin. Oh yes, now the fun really begins! We get to the checkout and have to wait in line. So we have to stop pushing the beloved bin around. This makes VS agitated, unhappy, but she’s coping. The checkout girl asks me to lift the bin onto the counter. It would obviously be too hard for her to lean over the counter and scan the barcode. Obviously. Well, as you can imagine the removal of the bin isn’t taken well by VS, even though it is only momentary. Toddler falls to the floor, limbs flailing, screaming, like real, proper screaming, lying flat on the floor crying out for “BIIIIIIINNN BBBBIIIIIINNNNNNN!!!!” I have now broken into a sweat and am calmly trying to upright VS, return the bin to her and pay for the shopping, as I ask if they take AMEX VS decides now is a great time to start racing back into the shops. I might remind you that the stinky nappy of doom is still in my bag at this point. I retrieve the toddler, manage to collect my shopping and leave the store.
All over right? Nooooooooooooooooooo. Now we have to walk back to the car. With VS pushing her bin. We have to cross four roads. We have to stop on occasion for imaginary rubbish to be put into the bin. This appears very amusing to onlookers. Honestly, it’s not. Oh, I had by now managed to rid myself of the nappy of doom so at least didn’t smell like a third world sewer. We finally made it back to the car: NOTE TO SELF: PARK DIRECTLY OUTSIDE THE SHOP IN FUTURE. After three cars driving through pedestrian crossings – if that was you, thanks, made my day sooooo much easier.
Now we get into the car. Next dilemma – the bin does not fit on VS’s lap. Cue meltdown. Sigh…thankfully when we got home VS had a sleep. And I was greeted by beautiful flowers sent from Vego Papa. So all in all things could have been worse!
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