Mass Exodus

For the sake of brevity, let's dismiss with how I ended up in a car with Baby Girl today without a diaper bag. Call it what you want, but it happened.

Between my doctor's visit and Baby Girl's doctor's visit (in the same medical complex), I decided to feed her. Halfway through, she screwed up her face and concentrated on expelling the remnants of past feedings in to her diaper. Apparently, she cannot multi-task, as she stopped eating for the duration. She then proceeded to protest loudly about the results.

Bravely, I peeked inside - thinking maybe it was one of her usual "small poops" - as I had neither a changing pad or wipes in my car. (I only had diapers that fit her because I haven't yet lugged the humungo box o' Costco diapers out of the car yet).

It was not. Rather, it was a spectacular explosion barely contained within the confines of the diaper. I lay her down and unfastened the diaper. It was hopeless with no wipes. Coming up with a very expensive alternative, I tried to use another diaper to wipe her little bum. No luck.

About the time I'd stunk up the car and only half-wiped her little bottom, Baby Girl decided she needed to expel more waste. I gave up, stuck the once clean diaper on her and rolled up the very, very messy one. Her appointment was in 15 minutes. There was a gas station down the street. Surely they would carry something I could use to scrub her bum with.

Failing to put on her pants or socks (or even button her onesie), I put Baby Girl back in her carseat for the block-long drive to the gas station. Once there, I took her out of her seat and schlepped her half-naked self into the convenience store to look for wipes.

I kept waiting for CPS spies to launch themselves at me, condemning me with accusations like, "what kind of mother takes her half-naked, dirty bummed self out in 38-degree weather?!" I got to the counter - the clerk asked how my days was going. I replied, "It's better not to ask, as evidenced by the fact that I am taking my half-naked baby to a gas station." He laughed. I explained the situation (why do I feel compelled to do this?) and left, wipes in hand.

We returned to the doctor's complex, and I changed Baby Girl's diaper. Knowing that she was going to have to strip naked for her weighing anyway, I snapped the onesie up, but didn't replace her pants and socks before I took her into the doctor's office.

Again, the visions of the receptionist pushing the silent "summon the CPS patrol" button and again my sad diatribe of how I ended up with a baby, a horribly explosive diaper, no diaper bag and a dire need for wipes.

When Baby Girl has her own kids and confesses that she got stranded with no useful baby supplies, I'll commiserate with her.

Until then, I'm stocking my car with wipes. Maybe the humungo box o' Costco diapers will remain in there as well.