Changing Challenges

On Tuesday after a tough session fighting the sleeps Son and I went into town to do a spot of shopping we were jointly tested with a feeding session vs. getting the bus home.

So, as a new Mummy I decided to take a stand or rather "go for it" and change Sons nappy, in the hope of a dirty one, and feed him. The alternative would have been to get the bus and sit for 20 minutes while he screamed in hunger and discomfort. Clearly not an option.

After battling with the pram through a heavy set of doors I popped into a well known American coffee shop bought a bottle of water in order to use their changing facilities guilt free. . .

What I didn't anticipate in this master plan was the homeless man who followed me in and who went - with his trolly of stuff- straight into the changing facilities I was about to use. So I waited, patiently, desperately needing the loo myself and anticipating the increasing restlessness of Son which in full blown scream mode can be difficult for even his obsessed mother to cope with.

He* left, presumably to explore what else the coffee shop had to offer, he certainly didn't get a cuppa while I was there- and also left his trolly. Blocking the ability for me to park my pram out of the way of the other customers. Or even try to bring it into the changing room with me. Argh.

I stormed ineffectively out of the coffee shop (hard to have a good storm when you are pushing a pram, carrying a changing bag and trying to one handed open a couple of heavy doors) and round the corner to a Pizza based restaurant and very cheekily ask to use their facilities without buying an actual meal. I was directed to the disabled loos. Had she said not unless I bought a meal, I might have started shouting about rights sat on the floor and popped a boob out right there and then!

There was no changing table but I wasn't about to come back out and point this out to the waitress.

Son was an angel, I quickly set him on the floor and changed him at lightening speed (it was a pee day and not a poop day!) then popped him on the boob. During which time, clearly relaxed he trumped and farted away while slurping and gulping and squeaking away at the boob.

His trumps are very grown up. By grown up I mean Adult like, to the point where I had visions of us leaving this toilet to be confronted by an actual disabled person waiting to get in and trying to explain that the lingering odour was not me but my 6 week old son and that no I wasn't disabled but this is where they had suggested I change my sons nappy. . . .

Thankfully no-one was there so we made a hasty exit!

*The homeless guy not Son.