So there's this whole intricate dance of awkwardness and germ avoidance when we're in public and need to anoint that tushie with a new pull-up. E was sitting on the potty in a stall in the Nordstrom lounge. Let me exalt this tushie because its owner declared that she needed to use the potty.
She sat. She didn't use the potty.
But, since we had a pishy pull-up dangling between her knees, I advocated for swapping it out with a fresh one anyway. This is how we do this in public: while she was still sitting on the potty I pulled off her shoes and set them on the floor. I pulled off her pants and tried to hold them without putting them anywhere. I pulled off her underpants - the daily supplements to my laundry loads that have never touched direct flesh, because they're worn over her delightful pull-ups. I tried to hold them with the pants without letting them touch anything. I'm, of course, kneeling in front of E's crotch, trying not to touch anything, trying not to let my knees touch anything, counterbalancing my weight on my toes against the tugs of clothing off of her legs. I rip off the old pull-up but I have to shimmy up the new one. I feed the unders up over her legs, the pants over her legs, and her feet back into her shoes. Once her shoes are back on her feet she jumps from the seat to the ground and from their I raise the pull-up, unders and pants to waist level, like rehoisting the flag at daybreak.
So I was working my little pulley pieces and E was making the task even more complex by twisting her torso around to retrieve her Dora potty seat (the insert that makes an adult toilet fit a child tushie). She reached for Dora so she could fold her up, and the automatic flush sensor engaged. E jumped back, startled, and lost her balance in the tangled half-hoisted purplewear I hadn't completely hoisted. In my concern for not touching anything, I toppled forwards into her arm, and my face got smacked with the potty seat in her hand. It was dripping with the splash from the autoflush. But we were in Nordstrom, so I'm sure it was Evian water that carried the Lysol scent and fecal matter to my face.