Camping Trip Chapter 1

(I'm writing this for a class in school. its 99% true and 1% could very well be true, just not in this time frame)


I had planned to wake up early, pack, shower, and get my homework done before my baby, Zoey, work up in the morning so I can be on time for our camping trip. But, naturally, she wakes up 30 minutes after I do and doesn’t go back to sleep. I try everything: a clean bum, two bottles, a few cuddles. And nothing. She is wide awake trying her new trick of standing while holding onto the crib. So instead of working on my to do list, I bring her to bed with me. We cuddle some more, and she finally dozes of. Unfortunately, so do I. The next thing I know, the little princess is pulling my hair. She let me sleep in until ten in the morning. She never sleeps in that late. Naturally.


The morning is spent running around like a drugged fly. I decide to forgo the shower, an often occurrence in my life. Who has time for daily hygiene? Definitely not a full time student and worker with two children, one she birthed and the other her mother-in-law did.

My mother-in-law is taking Zoey for the weekend so my husband and I can go camping at the lake. We live two hours away, so the plan is to meet half way by 1 o’clock. That doesn’t leave much time. Somehow I get Zoey fed, dressed, and packed in time. I still have a billion things to do for myself, but at least she is all taken care of so I can drop her off in time.

Naturally, they aren’t on time. This is a reverse from normal. So I wait in the Chevron parking lot and just watch the people. A man in a polo shirt and plaid pants runs to catch the bus that is slowly driving around. I look at him closer. He has tattoos all over his legs, and is holding a brown stuffed animal. I think it is a dog, but he is too far away and I don’t have on my glasses to tell for sure. I wonder if he is giving it to his child? Isn’t that a twisted fate? He is late to go see his son or daughter and my in-laws are late taking mine away.

With that, I go sit in the back with her. As I open the back door, she gives me the biggest gummy grin. As I take her in I realize she is wet. That can mean a few things, and all of which I don’t want to deal with at this gas station. As I get closer my nose gives me a good idea of what I’m dealing with—major diaper blowout. Naturally. I unbuckle her from her car seat and get a better look at what I’m dealing with. My aunt calls dirty diapers, muddy diapers. Well, Zoey has a freaking mudslide on her back. I clumsily try to fish out a diaper and a change of clothes to go deal with this avalanche. This is a hard task one handed anyways. Now, add a wiggly baby I don’t want to get too close to me in the other hand. I can feel my pants settle a centimeter too low, yet I don’t have an extra arm to fix it. So here I am trying to magically shimmy my pants to the correct location, holding a smelly, dirty, now crying baby, and digging in my diaper bag I swear Marry Poppins made because I cannot find the diapers for the life of me. My phone is vibrating in my pocket, but I don’t even bother to worry about answering it. Instead, I just yell to my pocket. Not right now! I look like a crazy woman, for sure.

I eventually find her diaper and change of clothes and go in the store and take care of the issue. As I walk back out to my car, here comes the in-laws. Naturally, they get here 5 minutes too late to help the crazy woman screaming at her pocket. We make the exchange without a hitch.