It’s 4:15 on a Thursday, and I’m sitting on the couch with a sleeping baby sprawled across my lap, small mountains of crumpled up Kleenex around me from blowing my nose way too many times, and a mess of baby toys on the floor in front of me – one of the many reasons I’ll never be mom of the year. It’s early release Thursday, so Eric is home already. Instead of doing something educational or crafty or athletic, like Perfect Mom would, I have a play station controller in my hand. He’s finished his homework, and when asked what he’s like to do, he insists he wants to watch me play Final Fantasy. I should say no, but hey, let’s be real – if your kid begs you to play your video game, and it’s something appropriate for them to watch, you check if he’s sure than you pop that sucker in with a silent “finally! I haven’t gotten to play in weeks!”
Andrew stirs as I get to a boss, so I offer him some milk and he gladly sucks away while I try to finish just one more battle before turning it off. Suddenly, warmth. Wet, seeping warmth all over my lap…and though I may pee a little when I sneeze, I’m not prone to relieving myself without feeling it, so I know something has gone amiss with Andrew’s diaper.
I pause, much to Eric’s dismay, and rush us upstairs to Andrew’s room. As I do, the phone rings, and like a sport I answer it while I hobble, soaking wet from stomach to thigh with a concerned looking baby on my hip.
When we get upstairs, I manage to lay him down one handed and hold a conversation – I’m talented like that. Off comes his clothes and the offending diaper, one snap unsnapped, and while I’m at it I get my own wet jeans and underwear off.
At that precise moment, Danny’s bus pulls up in front of the house and starts honking – a new driver, I later discover, who didn’t see lights on and assumed no one was home.
And that, my friends, is how I ended up in my driveway this afternoon, commando, bags under my eyes and nose rubbed red, wearing unbuttoned jeans that look like I’ve peed myself, with a naked baby wrapped hastily in an Angry Birds blanket.
I expect child services at the door any moment.