Dads Behaving Dadly: Poop on a Plane

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Poop On A Plane

Alex Finlayson, Emerald, QLD, Australia

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We were on the last of three eight-hour flights on our journey home to Australia after an epic six-week adventure to England. We’d had an absolute ball. “RatGirl,” my 18-month old daughter, was spoiled rotten by my family and she behaved like a complete angel the entire time.

We were about two hours from landing in Brisbane when my little girl, who was sitting on my lap, suddenly gave me ‘that look.’ She started to grunt and turned a dangerous shade of purple, which was soon followed by an all-too-familiar aroma. I turned to the Missus, who was doing a wonderful job of pretending to be asleep, and grabbed the diaper bag from under her seat.

With bag in hand and girl under arm, I stood up in the close confines of cattle-class and headed to the toilet. Occupied. I turned around and headed to the rear of the plane, trying my best not to bash people in the head with the diaper bag, or worse, RatGirl’s backside, which was beginning to exude a very potent odor.

Finding the toilet in the rear of the plane unoccupied, I squeezed in with my little girl and the diaper bag, snapping the door shut behind us. Airplane toilets are not the most spacious things in the world; it has to be said. I pulled the changing table down (changing table is the laughable term they use for the piece of bouncy cardboard attached to the wall for the purposes of changing the diapers of, presumably, Barbie dolls) and laid my girl down on it. I plopped the diaper bag on the sink. I set my feet against the sway of the plane, unsnapped her outfit and prepared for the worst.

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I was not prepared enough.

Her poop looked and smelled like a week-old Chicken Korma that had gone through a blender and then had been left out in the sun for a few days. Worse, it was leaking around the edges of the diaper, bubbling out here and there like the Bog of Eternal Stench in Labyrinth. And the smell … Dear God! I adopted the Dad-Changing-Diaper stance of men everywhere and tucked my nose into my t-shirt. It did not help. My eyes were stinging!

I took the diaper off while holding my little girl’s feet in the air in one hand. I did my best to get as much of the poop into the diaper as possible, but the thing was so damn full already. I tried to close it with my one free hand but could not without getting poop everywhere, so I placed the open diaper next to the bag and then reached for the wipes.

All two of them.

I knew I was in trouble. I was doing my best to keep my little girl on the table without dropping her butt and spreading poop everywhere, but I was not having much luck. This stuff was the consistency of warm Peanut Butter, and it was halfway up her back. The room seemed to be filling with a smell that was taking physical form and tickling the back of my throat with its greasy fingers. My head was spinning. I did the best I could with the two wipes, but all I really managed to do was pick off the chunks then smear the rest of it all over her bare butt. She started to get even more fidgety.

I reached for the toilet roll.

There were only three pieces left. WHO THE F*** LEAVES THREE PIECES OF TOILET PAPER ON THE ROLL?!

I used them.

They were very little help.

I looked for hand towels.

No hand towels.

The image of being up a certain aptly-named creek without the means to navigate settled into my sleep-deprived brain. Here I was, in a tiny toilet at the back of an airplane hurtling over the Pacific with a little girl covered in the most epic poop ever and nothing to clean her with. Time to improvise.

I took my shoes off.

I took my socks off.

I cleaned her butt with my socks.

It was not enough.

I took my jeans off.

I took my boxer-shorts off.

I cleaned her butt with my boxer-shorts.

That is right, I stood butt-naked in the middle of an airplane toilet and cleaned up my girl’s poop with my underwear.

I am not proud.

I managed to dab a little water on a clean corner of my boxer shorts to make sure she was properly clean and then I stood her up on the changing table. She gave me a very quizzical look.

“Doodle?” she asked, as in, Daddy, why the bloody hell is your doodle out?!

“Yes dear, doodle,” I said.

She giggled.

My shame was complete.

I dressed my beautiful girl and somehow managed to keep her on the changing table while I bundled up the diaper, socks, and underwear, pushing them into the waste bin built into the sink. A smear of poop lingered on the silver flappy thing, and I had no other option but to clean it off … with my hand!

I thoroughly washed my hands and then pulled my jeans on before casting one last glance over the crime scene. There were three little bottles of smelly stuff above the sink, so I opened one and sprayed it around the room. It was as effective as trying to mask the smell of a cattle farm with a small bowl of potpourri. I opened the door.

There were two people waiting.

I ushered my little girl down the aisle, now fresh as a daisy, while I followed her barefoot and commando.

I took my seat and ordered a beer.

“Oh, I’ll have a glass of wine, please,” said the Missus, who had miraculously just woken up.

RatGirl promptly fell asleep as though nothing had happened and I sank into my seat for the rest of the long flight home.

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Alex Finlaysonis an Englishman living in Australia with his Aussie wife and two kids. He is a Daddy, Hubby, Writer, Blogger, and Teacher. He has a website called dadrites.com and is part of the Aussie Daddy Blogger Network. And he dies a little inside every time someone uses the word ‘soccer.’

Hogan Hilling is a nationally recognized and OPRAH approved author of 12 published books. Hilling has appeared on Oprah. He is the creator of the DADLY book series and the “#WeLoveDads” and “#WeLoveMoms” Campaigns, which he will launch in early 2018. He is also the owner of Dad Marketing, a first of its kind consultation firm on how to market to dads. He is also the founder of United We Parent. Hilling is also the author of the DADLY book series and first of its kind books. The first book is about marketing to dads “DADLY Dollar$” and two coffee table books that feature dads and moms. “DADLY Dads: Parents of the 21st Century” and “Amazing Moms: Parents of the 21st Century.” Hilling is the father of three children and lives in southern California.