The Poop Suit with the Drape Shape and the Sheet Pleat

Even grandparents pay their dues.

So we decided to give John and Emily a break by taking Luciya on a jaunt to the local park. We had lots of fun helping her climb on the play structure, go down the slide backward, and run screaming through the various water sprays that were the biggest attraction in the 90+ heat.

All is well until Luciya suddenly freezes in her tracks with that look on her face.

"Do you have to go potty?" Grams asks sweetly. A stricken nod from the little statue.

"Too late," says Grandpa, wisely eyeing the growing bulge in the back of that cute pink swimsuit.

We had thought we were safe because L. had just had a big poop before we left for the park. How wrong we were.

"Don't let her sit down," warns Grams, racing to the car for diaper and wipes. "Easier said than done," thinks Gramps, left holding the little paw. But Luciya is uncharacteristically immobile. She desires neither to prance nor to roll about wantonly. She stands perfectly still for what seems a smelly eon while Grams searches the car frantically for wipes. Finally found stuck way under the seat, they prove to be as dry as week-old corn husks. Still better than nothing,

Then the exquisite logistics of removing the poop suit without inconveniently spreading the wealth. Luckily, L. is happy to be a poseable doll: flat on her back, feet in the air. Only when a small, corn-studded morsel falls on her chest does she move, grabbing it before she can be grabbed. But she willingly relinquishes her prize and submits to the rest of the cleaning process without complaint or inordinate writhing.

Scraped, swabbed, and diapered, she's ready to head for the water again. but G & G have had enough fun for the day, so L. is returned to her rejuvenated parents just in time for dinner.