Mia is a rather prolific spitter, thanks to reflux and the overabundant milk supply available from my ta-tas. (By the way, do you think that when I finish breastfeeding I will get to keep the breasts? I never cared about not having them, but it is nice to not have to trade entirely on my smokin' ass.) I use cloth diapers as burp rags (but never as diapers, yes you may curse me for my careless creation of more trash for our landfills but I will just plug my ears and chant "I can't hear you" in a sing-songy voice) and I have a collection of about 40, which sometimes allows me to go an entire day without doing laundry. The burp rags are scattered about the house, but invariably there is never one around when I need one. I tried always having one slung over my shoulder, but it falls off or gets used and abandoned in the kitchen sink and I end up trying to catch a milk geyser in my cupped hand to prevent it from splatting onto the couch. (Have I mentioned the glamour?)
A couple of weeks ago, I hit upon A Clever Idea! I tucked a clean burp rag into the back waistband of my (pre-pregnancy, ha!) jeans as an emergency back-up. The theory was that I would always have an extra at the ready if need be. I promptly forgot it was there and took Mia on a thrilling trip to the bank and Target. Hours later, I remembered my Clever Idea, only to discover that my emergency back-up burp rag was missing. I wondered briefly how long I had wandered around Target before it fell out and hoped that I had at least given my fellow discount superstore patrons a good chuckle.
Knowing me as I do, I was not all that suprised that the real solution to the mystery of the missing burp rag was worse. You see, I found the burp rag later that afternoon, I had not lost it in Target after all. I had, however, made a pit stop before running my errands and had cleverly dropped the burp rag straight into the toilet.
I guess I'm just glad I didn't flood the house, because fishing the pee-soaked diaper out of the toilet bowl which is increasingly filthy thanks to my cleaning lady's stubborn refusal to work for free and Mia's stubborn refusal to ever nap ever and my searing hatred for cleaning bathrooms (why can't men pee in the bowl? how hard can it be?) was quite enough motherhood glory for one day. Although I must admit that back when I had my fancy job with my fancy private office and was almost never covered in vomit, I had to fish my ID badge out of the toilet after it fell off my waistband. Um, more than once. And also my pager. Apparently splashing around in toilets is some sort of hobby for me. Possibly I need to get out more.