I was finishing my Costco Stacciatella Gelato as my wife and I were checking out some cute artisan bowls. I did my go to comedy schtick of playing the gay man by repeatedly saying “lets get the whole set” in a lilting yet husky voice. When I saw the thirty dollar price tag for a ramekin I dropped the gay act and said, “walk away from the bowl”. Though our eight month old looked cray-cray adorbs next to her big sis in the shopping cart, she just wasn’t feeling it. She was a bit fussy actually. The Baby Bjorn was needed, but I had undone all the straps, clips, and buttons, and had a very difficult time reattaching them. Yet another thing my graduate degree in acting couldn’t help me with.
Once the Bjorn was reassembled I pick up baby and situated her facing out. Its not until she’s sitting in the harness that I feel the warm, mustard colored shit that has soaked up to her mid back and is now all over the front of my pineapple print button down shirt.
Normally I would say ‘poop’ when talking about my baby’s excrement, but when it’s all over you and her, in the middle of Costco, its called shit. Stinky, mustard colored, shit.
Another thing my graduate degree did not ready me for was always bringing a full diaper bag. Not even the experience of raising a now seven year old child had burned this important fact on my brain. I was hedging my bets, and as it turns out, I am not too big too fail. Standing in Costco with mustard colored shit over you and your child, with no change of clothes, is an epic fail.
I did have a single diaper and some wipes in my car. The baby needed and change, as did I. We had to go home. So the baby and I left my wife and elder daughter to finish the shopping.
I walked through Costco, holding the baby at arms length. She thought this great fun and started kicking her legs excitedly.
Out the front gate and to the car. One handed I undress the baby and give her a wipe down. I set her down to reach into he car for a diaper, realizing too late that I put her down on asphalt. Her bum’s just moist enough to draw the black pebbles to her like a magnet. More wipes.
Now I have a full diaper, and a dozen or so mustard stained wipes, and nowhere to dispose of the mess. In desperation I roll it up and try to chuck it away amongst the pine tress, which have been planted along a chain link fence like a beard to mask the train yard.
The diaper pops open midway, spilling the mustard stained wipes across the parking lot. I live in Seattle, the fact that I use disposable diapers is heresy enough, to leave them in the middle of the parking lot would be cause for banishment.
So I cleaned up the wipes, but still threw the diaper into the trees. Remember, this is a safe place.
The baby and I drive home, shirtless, clean up and head back to Costco.
Thats worth a couple of beers right?