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South Carolina sure is pretty, isn’t it?

Despite gorgeous scenery and warm weather, this is the closest we came to a decent family picture. HA. That is literally what Sunny and I are saying in that image. HA, indeed.

Now that we’re back in New England, we’re going to somehow snap one for the holidays that doesn’t involve us looking like abominable snowmen. Don’t ask me how. It may involve frostbite.

Perhaps we’ll just use these gems from the plane flight. Because arguably we took more photos on the plane than anywhere else on this trip.

So instead of talking about all the lovely adventures we had, like s’more making, and boat riding, and wine tasting, I’m going to talk to you all about poop. Because, why else do you come here if not for the bodily fluids, eh? And I feel as though I’ve been really letting you down in that area of late.

While the trip was wonderful in so many ways, I have also never spent so much of my life in public restrooms. With a potty-training toddler, a nursing infant, and a post-partum body, a good 50% of my time in South Carolina was spent huddled on or around a public toilet.

Unfortunately, when we needed a public toilet most, we were at a loss.

You see, for one of our days away, we opted to hop a boat and head on over to Hilton Head. What a fantastic trip for the kids! Riding on a boat! Climbing lighthouses! Eating ice cream! All was going to be glorious.

Except it was Day 3 of a stopped-up toddler. She’s done this to us before. I don’t know why we’re surprised that the poop-strikes continue. Her relationship with her bowels has become far more complex now that they must evacuate on an adult toilet, so this has been an ongoing struggle since our transition a few weeks ago. Usually it takes 5-6 visits to the potty to thoroughly empty her lower intestine before the coast is clear.

We knew this. And yet… Hindsight is always 20/20.

In the center of town there were public restrooms aplenty. Many pee breaks, diaper-changing breaks, and change-of-clothes-due-to-spit-up breaks were had in those very restrooms.

My life is pretty glamorous, no?

During one of these trips to the toilet, Sunny went #2. Much applause and praise was lavished upon her, because shitting in an adult potty is a big deal, yo. Especially a public one, away from the confines and comforts of home. Instead of heeding previous #2 experiences, however, James and I thought that this post-poo moment was the ideal time to journey as far away as humanly possible from the public restrooms, to get a view of the harbor. We made it all the way out to the tip of the point, and as we looked up to take in our vista, Addison’s little voice said, “Mommy, Daddy, I need to go poop again.”

James turned and chimed in, “Sweetie, I think you already did.”

Yep, from the look of her pants, we were too late. And we now had the equivalent of five football fields to traverse before we’d be in the safety of a bathroom, away from the judgements of others due to our feces-coated toddler.

I thought that the walk from the hospital entryway to L&D was the longest walk of my life.

I take it back.

THIS was the longest walk of my life.

James and I each grabbed a hand and moved as quickly as possible, dragging Addison along, as streams of brown ran down both sides of her legs. She cried. She protested. It BURNED! STOP!

So there we are. On Hilton Head Island. Manhandling our toddler, our toddler that smells and looks of a pig sty. Shit running down her legs and into the sidewalk that leads to the majestic harbor view. As tourist after tourist watches on in horror.

One gentleman even approached us and said, ever-so-concerned, “You do realize that you’ve missed some on her leg? You should probably clean that up.”

Oh, that enormous shit that is raining down our child’s body? YES! Silly me! I hadn’t noticed!

By the time we got to the restroom, James and I were both laughing so hard that we were crying. Crying from the ridiculousness and humiliation of it all. As James gave Addison a bath thanks to a box of baby wipes, and I dry-heaved into the sink rinsing off her shoes, her pants, her underwear, MY SOUL!, we were once again reminded of this ever-so-special club that we’ve joined. Because prior to May 18, 2009, we could never have envisioned spending our life swimming in another person’s poo in a public restroom. And yet, now? We can’t imagine living without it.

Of course, Courtland blew out her diaper mere moments after we exited the bathroom with a now-clean Sunny. And ya know, cleaning up breast fed baby poo is a cakewalk. Perspective, y’all. I totally have it.