One of Those Things You Only Handle Because You're a Parent

I have a mental list of things that I'd rather not have to deal with as a mother.

Number One on that list would be having a toddler throw up in her carseat.

Yesterday, on our way downtown for Woodstock's well baby visit, between exclamations of "nowy!" (snowy), Woodstock lost her lunch. There was a series of odd little sounds and then the smell - oh the smell - of something rotten and horrid crept into the front seat. I looked back and was greeted with Number One on my "List of Ridiculous Things I Never Want to Face."

To make matters worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), Woodstock recovered immediately. Which meant she spent the remaining 5 minutes of our drive happily smearing the smelly, vile mess all over anything she could reach.

There follows a rather long story about perching her on a blanket on the trunk in the parking lot, stripping her down (to avoid taking the, er, "chunks" into the doctor's office with us) and wrapping her in a blanket - to which she replied "brrr. cold!" over and over and over. And sitting at the doctor's, and then the quick cleanup and the torturous drive home, the putrid smell wafting up my nostrils. The odd sensation of the heater on full blast with the windows rolled down to rid (unsuccessfully) the interior spaces of the pungent reminder of earlier drama.

We arrived home to discover I neither had any idea where the carseat manual was safely tucked (so safe I'll never find it) nor how to remove the carseat cover. Suddenly, I realized why the reviews for this particular carseat began "if you get this, hope you never have to remove the cover to wash it." Which was almost exactly what I was thinking, standing in ankle-deep snow in my driveway, trying not to gag.

It turns out the manual isn't published online either. Nor were there any poor souls who had blogged about the experience in enough detail to help me. It appeared to require a screwdriver and at least an engineering degree (of which neither Himself nor I possess - not that Himself was home - he was at work) to even start. Frustrated, I dialed the customer relations line, where a recorded voice pleasantly reminded me they did not open until 7 a.m. Eastern time - 10 hours away.

Eventually, I kicked the carseat out of frustration and left it lying in a dejected heap on the dining room floor. I went to bed (after bathing and feeding Woodstock and doing two batches of "sick" laundry). The alarm went off at 5 a.m., and I bounded out of bed to reach the manufacturer. While not exactly sympathetic, they did e-mail me the manual, which told me, after describing the 42-step process to remove the cover, to LINE DRY it. Bah!

I put the cover on the speed/heavily soiled cycle, then, crossing my fingers, tossed it into the dryer on the dewrinkle/low heat cycle. I would either save myself 24 hours or ruin it to the point I'd need a new carseat cover. Given the stakes, I took the gamble.

One would think the hard part was done, but that would only be if one was dealing with something other than sadistic manufacturers who never actually have to USE the items they are manufacturing. The seat cover came out fine - more praises to my washer and dryer. However, it took Himself and I a full 90 minutes to put the carseat back together - only to discover we'd reattached the base wrong and had to re-do the last three steps.

I don't know about anyone else, but there is NEVER a 90-minute cushion in my morning routine. 15 minutes before I was supposed to show up in the office, I sent a message that read, "Carseat disaster. Will be 30-40 minutes late." I received the reply, "I'm not even going to ask." That is one smart person - given the fact that Himself was ready to begin swearing like the sailor he once was.

Eventually, long after I was supposed to have been at work, Himself and I braved the ankle-deep snow again to reinstall the carseat. While it took less time than the first installation, it definitely wouldn't be classified as "easy."

And the car still smells.

Today has to get better. It just must. I'm not giving the universe any other option.