Uniforms and going supersized

I expect most of my regular readers or instagram followers will have seen the photo of N in a slightly odd get up of a supersized jacket.

I feel very sorry for him (not enough that I wasn’t going to take a photo though), because it wasn’t because I was being ultra-prepared for him starting school in September.  Even with my planning ahead, I think that would have taken a few years for him to grow into the outfit.  We had a bit of an issue last week while out and about hence the get up.

We had an appointment with the bank to discuss N’s savings account.  Damn those banks for just randomly closing down account types and not informing me that his interest rate would now be a third of what it initially was.  What’s really bad is that the replacement bank account has the same higher rate of interest, but that’s not the account type they transfer you to.  Bad on the behalf of the banks, but it seems to be the norm.  By the time I found out, it was 2 years or so later and he’d been earning a pittance in interest.

Anyway, I had to take N with me to the appointment, which I wasn’t too worried about.  He’s usually pretty good about sitting quietly and reading or playing while I sort things out, and a Friday after nursery he’s always a bit tired anyway.

We saw a lovely young Irish lady, who brought N in a couple of boxes of toys and books for him to play with.  He sat nicely for a while, then decided to crawl behind where I was sitting.  As a parent, I’m obviously aware that something might have been amiss as soon as he disappears from my eye line…and yes I turned round to see a puddle on the carpet.  Noooo.  Oh yes, absolutely soaked through trousers – and they were a pale colour.  I was mortified, and poor N was obviously gutted it had happened.

I do wonder though why children always say they don’t need to pee even when asked, or advised to go to the toilet.  Even when he was toilet training, I’d never seen so much pee.

Thankfully the lady from the bank was brilliant.  Unless we’re out for the whole day (and even then it’s rare), I never take out spare change of clothes for N.  He’s usually better at saying he wants the toilet when out and about than when he’s at home.  I just had no idea what we were going to do.  It was going to be a long old walk back to the car through town, approaching shop closing time.

We were sent to the staff toilets to try and dry him off, unsuccessfully given there were only paper towels and not a dryer.  The lady rifled through their old uniforms to see if we could fashion any trousers for N to wear.  The only trousers wouldn’t have stayed up , the pullover was massive, so it was the jacket that would at least cover him up while we got to a shop.  There was no way he could put his soaked trousers back on, so had to sit in wet socks, wellies and pants while we finished up.

Thankfully, N was fine about wearing the oversized jacket.  We rolled up the sleeves a bit, and it did the job of covering him up.  The bank lady was lovely – made him feel that he was really special to be allowed to wear the jacket.  Then it was the walk of shame through the shopping centre.  Oversized jacket, plus wellies.  He didn’t get too many strange looks, we were lucky it was quiet.  We slopped through the town centre and beat a hasty path into the nearest clothes shop to buy new underwear, socks and trousers.

We picked up the items that we wanted and went to pay.  I couldn’t believe the 2 women behind the tills.  One looked and made a comment about ‘oh dear someone’s in a mess’, while the other one gawped and made a similar comment.  Now I’m not particularly sensitive, but I didn’t want N to feel like everyone was looking and judging him.  As it was he was probably ashamed of the state he’d got himself in.  It didn’t help that he had a bit of slapped cheek, so was looking a bit flushed as well.  Rude Marks & Spencer staff, making a little boy uncomfortable.

Thankfully the person at the fitting rooms just said, ‘I won’t ask’, and led us to the biggest changing room and let us get on with sorting him out.  N was happy, he had Thomas the Tank Engine pants (is it just me, thinking it’s a little disturbing having a train with a face over your crotch?!) and was back in dry clothes again.

It was definitely an interesting Friday afternoon, and not one I’d like to repeat.  And probably not one that N would want to repeat either.  I’m very relieved to the bank staff for helping out what could have been a really awkward event.  I can only hope their cleaners did a good job in the office after we’d left!  The next time we went out N told me I had to remember a change of clothes for him, in case we needed them.

Have you ever had any similar experiences being left high and dry?