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I walk in the door at 6:10 p.m. after a late meeting at work and find my husband cooking breakfast for dinner. OK, I can dig it. Homemade waffles and some honey-smoked bacon. Smells great.
I retreat to the bedroom to change into my Superwoman clothes: i.e. jogging pants, $3 T-shirt from our vacation over three years ago and baby blue slippers. I start to play with my son in the living room while we wait for the remainder of breakfast, I mean dinner, to be ready when I remember that we’re out of syrup. Off to the store I go. I decide to take my son with me — his cuteness will be a great distraction from my outfit should I run into anyone I know.
We get to the store and he see the cookies. I have to pick him up so he can see the bakery lady dole out the cookies to the kids waiting in line. He knows the routine. What kid doesn’t know a free cookie when they see one? So, I pick him up and smell the wonderous poopy odor. I’m hoping the Dad waiting in line next to me can’t smell it. He probably thinks I’m a bad mom for taking my kid to the store with a poopy diaper. Nice. My choice is to go to the bathroom to change his diaper — wait, I didn’t bring a diaper bag! Gotta go with the flow, if you know what I mean.
After my son receives the cookie, we head off to the baking aisle where I grab the syrup, we zip through the check out line and hop back into the car. Once home, I realize the poopy diaper was a false alarm. The momentary anxiety of the poopy diaper, sans diaper bag, experience is just a wee part of my day, but it’s what moms deal with daily. We just suck up the smell and deal with it.