Blindsided

I'll admit it and give him credit. My husband was right, knows he was right and won't let me forget that he was right.

And you would think I would know better by now.

After dinner on Mother’s Day, we stopped by Barnes & Noble. I knew my Baby Jaws would be wet so I grabbed a diaper and crammed it into my purse, not wanting to lug the giant diaper bag inside. My husband asked if I'd grabbed the wipes. "No," I replied, "He can't be poopie. He doesn't smell poopie." Don't think he didn't warn me that I'd regret not taking in the wipes.

I took my Baby Jaws into the restroom to change his diaper. Much to my surprise, when I took off the diaper it was then I was blindsided by the poop. You know the kind; those poops that just seem to appear out of nowhere with no smell, no warning.

My first thought was, "Crap, my husband was right." There I was, standing in the stall with a poopie butt staring up at me and no wipes. I grabbed some toilet paper and tried my best, but soon realized that was not going to cut it. The only option I had was to make a break for the sink to grab some wet paper towels. I waited as long as I could to make sure the coast was clear, but clearly that was not going to happen either. I realized I was just going to have to look like an idiot to the other women in the restroom. I now regretted not grabbing the wipes.

I placed my naked from the waist down, brown-cakey-butted little boy over my forearm and ran to the sink like a running back yelling, “I know I look like I’m crazy, but I have no wipes!” as two women washing their hands just stood there laughing at me. I did feel like a crazy mother and was apologizing to my son the entire time thinking if he were older and could remember this, it would probably scar him for life. One of the women said, “At least he’s being a good sport about it.” I would probably have been a good sport too if I had been sitting in odor-free poop for who knows how long, while my crazy mother aired out my butt while running through the bookstore bathroom.

I grabbed a handful of paper towels and soaked them, while praying no one else would come in to be mooned by my son. I was even going over in my mind how I would race someone to the back stall, which had the changing table, if need be. I cleaned the poor little guy's bottom then made the long, slow walk back out into the store. It was there I was greeted by my husband, who could tell by the look on my face that Baby Jaws had been poopie. I don't know which was worse; embarrassing myself in front of the women in the restroom or hearing these words from my husband, "I told you to grab the wipes."