Things Change

Today was not my day. I won't bore you with the mundane details, as I am fully aware that my problems – while very real to me – can easily be classified as petty, annoying "white whines." But perception is reality, and today mine sucked.

The icing on the cake came mid afternoon, in the observation room of T's gymnastics class when A looked up at me and said, "Mumma, I pooped." My first thought was, "really, because I just suckered your dad into changing a poop about an hour ago." Followed quickly by "I have no idea where the diaper bag is. And the odds are not in my favor that it is in the car."

What are my options here? I can't pretend I don't know – four other mommies and one grammy just heard my child tell me she pooped. Even if I don't have a diaper, they don't know I don't have a diaper so I have to at least pretend I'm going to change her. Also, it really smells, so I can't even fake a look in the diaper and say, "no no silly girl, that was just gas."

Which leaves me with – schlepping out to the car, fingers crossed that the diaper bag is there. Or maybe a stray diaper hidden under the seat, partially obscured from view by a mountain of fruit snacks and lost action figures. No such luck. I will not tell you what the next step was because A and I made a firm pact in the ladies room of the gymnastics place that we would never speak of it again. I will tell you that it was not pretty, and I judged myself a little bit even as it was happening. Desperate times and all that.

The point is – how did I get here? How did I become a mommy without a diaper bag? Because four years ago – yup, J was born exactly four years ago tomorrow – I was a diaper bag packing pro. I never left the house without a fully stocked diaper bag, including:

– 10 diapers and a full package of wipes (not travel sized, the full package)
– Changing pad
– 3 complete outfit changes, including socks
– 2 receiving blankets
– No less than 2 or more than 4 burp cloths
– 17 assorted sample sizes of diaper rash cream (in spite of T never actually suffering from diaper rash)
– 2 pacifiers (which remained in there long after T just quit taking them around 5 months)
– 3 mini bottles of hand sanitizer
– Mini first aid kit and nail repair kit, including scissors
– Books and toys, including crayons, markers and coloring books
– Snacks and $15 stainless steel baby sippy cup (which T never actually drank out of. EVER.)

It used to take me at least 30 minutes before we went anywhere with baby T to empty, inventory and repack the diaper bag. My husband didn't even try to help – he would just sit quietly with T, trying not to move or make eye contact while I was packing the bag. It was safest for both of us that way.

Fast forward four years – not only have I not packed the diaper bag in months, I apparently cannot even remember to put a diaper into my purse for emergency purposes. So I'm making a little promise to A and I tonight – two promises, actually. 1) I will put together "in case of emergency" mini diaper kits and stash one in each of the cars, and 2) We will work on getting on board the potty train, because I clearly cannot be trusted.

UPDATE: I told you I cannot be trusted. The following day, I grabbed two extra diapers so we wouldn't have a repeat performance (because I haven't gotten around to the ICE diaper kits yet)…and left them on the kitchen counter. And A peed through her clothes at the Bounce Zone. Thank goodness her Auntie had an extra Pull-Up. I. Cannot. Be. Trusted. Poor A.