Buy the original here
yesterday we went to the coffee shop for a singalong. I know. Mommy Needs a Cocktail in a social setting a) with her children AND b) with other mothers/children. It’s bound to end poorly.
So Mr. Skip is singing, singing, singing and all the kids are dancing around. All except two. The Baby has his arms wrapped around my neck so tight that I’m starting to get an oxygen-deprivation high and The Boy is curled up in a ball on my lap. It is evident that we do not get out often.
The Boy is silent. Up until Mr. Skip says that Ol’ McDonald has a horse on his farm and the horse says “quack.”
You would have thought Mr. Skip had spit on a picture of His Eminence, Bob the Builder. He leaped out of my arms and ran across the room.
TB: Noooooooo. A horse doesn’t say “QUACK.”
The room goes silent.
Mr. Skip: well what DOES a horse say?
crickets
People began to laugh. I started to prompt him, but it was too late. Mr. Skip was saying “neigh” and The Boy was throwing himself into my arms with a look of horror on his face. Horror at failing in front of everyone. Horror at the laughter. I whispered in his ear that we all get embarrassed sometimes and that it’s tough to remember stuff under pressure. For heaven’s sake, I failed the bar exam once. Mommy knows embarrassment. Ten minutes later the show was over and everyone left but us.
I turned around to see The Baby toddling away from me with a yellow back and I caught the scent that could make grown men cry.
Did I have a diaper? Of course. Wipes? Maybe. Dry/clean clothes? Who the hell do I look like? June Cleaver? We live 5 minutes from the coffee shop. Blowouts only occur when you are at least 45 minutes from home. It was at least 40 degrees out. He’ll be FINE. Parenting a la Britney-style.
I looked down to see there was crap on the floor. I snatched him up and ran to the bathroom. I’m in the middle of changing him on the floor (don’t ask) when I start to contemplate exactly how I am going to take him home after this mess. His shirt is shot. I held his pants up in the light and couldn’t see anything. I went in for the sniff.
Except I brought the pants too close to my face. Up against my nose and mouth, actually. Right into a smattering of something wet. The door flew open because the Cake Lady felt the need to check on us. But when the stench of the lav hit her in the face, she started to violently gag. She slammed the door closed. The Baby started to toddle away from me and I am sitting on the floor, realizing that I have now put my face in my son’s crap. I promptly put his pants back on him since it appeared that I wiped the poop off with my nose. Those pants were practically clean. I set the baby down outside the door and then I stuck my face under the sink.
It’s times like that that environment be damned, you just want a bottle of clorox in which to bathe your face.
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