It was only when I got to the Rec Center that I realized I had left the towels by the front door at home. So it is snowing. I’m Ginny’s daughter. I’ll figure this out because BY GOD, I am not take THE POSSESSED ONE home without his burning at least 700 calories in the pool. I grabbed the Bounty from the trunk of my car (thank you, Derek, for always preparing for the car-trapped-in-the-blizzard/end-of-the-world-scenarios that I mock you about continuously). 30 minutes of splashing coupled with 2 attempts at near drowning and we found ourselves back in the locker room.
By golly, Bounty IS the quicker-picker-upper. I left The Boy standing in the hot shower with the largest stall and I crammed myself into the corner to dry myself off and reclothe. When I was done, I papertoweled him off and threw most of his clothes on him. We went around the corner to finish dressing by the lockers and there was a woman there with her 4 year old and her 18 month old. I just plodded along getting dressed as The Boy went in and out of the perfectly Ethan-sized locker in front of me. Suddenly the other little girl was doing it too.
W: EMILY, I DON’T want you in that locker.
E: Why Mommy?
W: I just don’t want you in it.
E: Why Mommy? Tell me why. I want to know why.
The woman made a furtive glance in my direction.
W: I’ll tell you in the car, Emily. For now you just need to know that Mommy doesn’t want you to do it.
Maybe it was my “Mommy Wants a Cocktail” t-shirt barely covering my belly. Maybe it was the 10 pounds of melons encased in the black bra underneath the powder blue shirt. Maybe it was the oh so fashionable brown cord pants with the huge forgotten pizza stain on my knee. Maybe it was the thong underwear on a 9 month pregnant woman. Maybe it was the fact that I was drying my son off with Bounty paper towels. Maybe it was that locker rooms at gyms are the nastiest places on earth and she was waiting to get to the minivan in order to tell Emily that Mommy doesn’t want Emily to get an STD from climbing in and out of a locker that “may have been infected.”
All I know is that while she spent that time trying to telepathetically explain to Emily that she couldn’t tell her WHY she couldn’t get into the locker (“Emily, only bad mothers let their children play in lockers”), I was able to not only get my pants on, but my socks AND shoes on my pretty little non-swollen feet too.
K: Where’s Ethan?
E: HERE HE IS!!!!!
Out he jumped and we were on our way.Share on Facebook