But SATURDAY. Oh Saturday! That needs to be written down....
Poop on a stick. What a memory.
Near the end of our meal, My Love got a look on his face and shot me a questioning look. Apparently, a horrible smell had just creeped into his nostrils and he was blaming me.
I was innocent.
Boy Bean was the last one accused.
Unfortunately, he should have been the first.
(Insert coughing and fast retracting of limbs.)
The poor Boy had managed to poop....out his diaper...in his onesie.....down his pants....into his socks....and in his shoes.
Thankfully his fleece was spared.
I catapulted out my seat for recon on the bathroom, hoping to find a changing table.
My hope was not realized.
Did I mention it was about 38 degrees and raining?
And that I had to just used his spare outfit from the diaper bag....the day before?
And had not refilled it?
And that I was low on wipes?
Good times.
Miraculously, I succeeded.
Unfortunately for Boy Bean, we still had errands to run.
And he was naked.
Well, he had a diaper and a blanket, and once I returned to the restaurant his fleece was donned.
But still.
His lower half was bare.
That's right. We went full-redneck.
(Our errands were taking us straight to the mall....so we quickly purchased a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie for the little dude.)
A memory was made.
And nasal hairs were burned.
Overall? It was an excellent evening.
~Whitney :)
Copyright 2011
Ba ha ha ha ha. I had that happen when Eliza was a babe. At the mall.
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