We have a winner in our merry wipes giveaway! Kristen! Wipes for Kristen! (Kristen was #12, and I did it via random number, and I CANNOT FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET A SCREENSHOT, so don’t yell at me.)

Send me your address, and I will pass along to my friends at Huggies so you can get your glorious wipes! Don’t use them all in one place.

This ends my Poo-Free Summer, and honestly, thanks for putting up with this. I know that I never do this kind of thing, but I … well, honestly, Huggies has been great to work for, and I actually use their products, so I felt okay about it. Nay, I FELT GOOD.

(Although wait! There’s more! I am writing for Highchair Critics, which is Huggies-sponsored.) (Yes, they keep asking me back. Don’t miss Emo Baby, and the photo of me taken by the super-talented Leah.)

And now, while I realize it’s the end of summer, and this will be sort of fruitless unless you live in Florida, I want to share with you the one thing I learned after the WORST WIPE-UP IN THE HISTORY OF WIPE-UPS. Sam pooped in her swim diaper after a morning at the splash park. No big deal, right?

WRONG.

Have you ever taken off a swim diaper? They don’t have TABS. They’re PULL-UPS. OH HO HO HO. So I … pulled it down. And smeared poop all over her legs and, oh God, her FEET and OH GOD OH GOD.

And then I wiped! MANY WIPES! MANY MANY WIPES! AN ENTIRE TUB OF WIPES. PLUS A BATH.

And then I posted about it on Facebook. And that’s when I got the best secret ever that is probably not a secret to you, but whatever:

Swim diapers — well, Huggies anyway, I can’t speak for others — RIP OPEN AT THE SIDES FOR REMOVAL. YOU JUST RIP OPEN THE SIDES. NO POOP SMEARING. RIP THEM OFF.

!!!!

You’re welcome. Remember this next summer. MY GOD.

Disclaimer: I have been compensated to provide content for Huggies’ Highchair Critics blog and as a brand ambassador for their wipes. That said, my opinions are entirely my own and I have not been paid to publish positive comments.

See? Perfection. Delight! A BLT for lunch marred only by a briefly choking infant! And then I got in the car, where all hell proceeded to break loose, for it started snowing rather, uh, heavily, shall we say, and just as suddenly, to the point where I couldn’t see the road and my eyes were going all buggy from trying to focus on anything but the snowflakes hurtling toward the windshield. In fact, my eyes are quite literally crossing at the memory, and my heart rate has now elevated to 30-Day Shred levels (speaking of, my right knee is about to stage a coup). I pulled my trembling self to a gas station, where I had a serious conversation with Adam about whether I should stay in the Ho-Hum Motel (note: actual name) until the following day, because I was certain that death! destruction! torment! were all that lay ahead, and we’d NEVER MAKE IT HOME.

And apparently I was RIGHT, for before I knew what was happening, traffic (three cars, whatever) came to a total standstill amid the terrifying whiteout (the LAST THING YOU WANT, as no one can see your stopped car), because there were at LEAST seven cars all skidding off the road, and the next thing I knew there were sirens! stretchers! People ON the stretchers! Crunched cars! Three ambulances! Two fire trucks! POLICE.

(None of the cars were ours. Beebs and I were fine, although one of us was more fine than the other, perhaps because she slept through it.)

And then: sunshine. No snow. Smooth sailing. Whatthefuck. I mean, thank GAWD I didn’t stay in the Ho-Hum, because … HO HUM, you know what I’m saying?

(That line was genius, that. It’s a real shocker that I didn’t make it on Jeopardy, isn’t it?)

Occasionally, like, say, driving in a blinding snow squall, I look back on our years in Florida with a warm, golden affection, and imagine raising Sam near the Gulf of Mexico in a land where it never snows and sixty degrees is considered “cold.” The fantasy is fun for a few minutes, until I am slapped back to the reality that while yes, there is warm sunshine, there are also torrential downpours and lightning close enough to singe your face off. And the grass! Sam would never be able to sit in the grass, because it’s hard as a pile of razor-laden straw AND it is fraught with fire ants that would gladly eat your face off faster than a Fatburger.

And the ocean is great, right? Great, yes, great. It is also teeming with sharks — real ones — and wearing silver is inadvisable during the warmer months, lest you be mistaken for a mackerel. It is also true that shuffling your feet is a necessity from May through October because, oh ho ho HO! it’s stingray season, oh happy day! And what Floridian fantasy is complete without elderly drivers being wheeled away on gurneys as they got in yet another traffic accident at a six-way stop as you sit in traffic, your face melting directly into the pavement? And GAWD, we haven’t even talked about the threat of hurricanes, which is a constant source of anxiety throughout the season, because even if you aren’t hit with one, the weathermen are perpetually full of doomsday predictions about whatever clouds are swirling in the Caribbean on any given day.

Yes, I will take snow squalls and warm fireplaces, thank you very much. Frankly, if not for the driving, I am a winter person. I love winter, so long as I’m properly dressed for it, and have no problem throwing Sam in her snowsuit, packing her into the Ergo, and heading out for a tour of downtown and some errands, no matter how cold it is. Mmmm, cold weather. Snuggly!

To close the loop on the Costco excitement, I walked out with 168 Kirkland diapers, and have high hopes, despite their lack of whatever that little comfort flex thing was on the side of the Pampers that made them seem … comfortable and flexible. (See? Am marketer’s wet dream!)

And in housekeeping news, I will likely be a little on the sparse side next week and the week after, as I finish several LOOOOOOMING deadlines on projects that are due at or near the middle of February. Most of them are not thrilling at all, but one is VERY THRILLING, at least to me, and involves something that people! like you! and my parents! can buy! in a place called a BOOKSTORE! And you can read all about it HERE.

Have a wonderful, fabulous weekend.

*Regina Spektor