After J got his hair cut we hit up the Sugarhouse district where we met up with a friend for lunch. We decided on the Soup Kitchen. As always I got the tomato soup with a grilled cheese – the best in my opinion. I don’t really dig the sandwiches there – they stack them way too tall and kind of overload the ingredients, and not in a good way. But they make a mean soup.
Why he has to play in any pile he finds, I’ll never understand. Bird poo, feathers, leaves, and dirt. Looks harmless from a distance (hence the picture moment), but up close all I could think about were the diseases that birds carry and what J now had on his hands. Needless to say, we made a trip to the restroom to wash up.
Have you ever had to take a toddler with you into a public restroom without a stroller? I’m curious as to how others juggle this task. Now I’m not talking about going in and washing hands or changing diapers and then out again. That part is pretty standard. I’m talking about Mama-gots-to-pee trips to the bathroom, where your toddler is now out of your arms and left to stand patiently and wait (yeah, right) in the cramped little stall with you… I wish there was a way to hang my kiddo on the back of the door with my purse – now that would be an effective solution… But as it is, mama gets to hover over the toilet while keeping her toddler from sitting or playing on the floor, let alone crawling on it and looking under the adjoining stalls. Before I had a belly I would just put him on my knee and do my thing (yep, all while hovering – talk about thighs of thunder). Now I just do my best not to tinkle on everything as I reach out to grab his hands before they attempt to trace the bathroom tiles or pull all the toilet paper off the role. Actually the hardest part of going to the bathroom is pulling up your pants. Here is a moment where your hands are tied up AND you are standing up, which is an indicator to your toddler that we are now leaving… oh the juggling. That is why you will notice, if ever you see me exit a bathroom with my kiddo, that I am sweatier and more disheveled than upon entering. Why can’t the whole world understand the importance of a clean restroom?