on friday, jonas spent half of the day at work with me. we didn't have any patients that afternoon, and i knew that i'd literally be the only person in the office from 2 to 5pm...so it wasn't going to be a big deal that a normally sweet little monster crashed with me for a couple of hours.
after work, i needed to run to target to pick up a gift for mini-batman's birthday. as i pulled into the parking lot, a MIGHTY rumble followed by a baby coo sounded from the back seat. i pull into the parking spot with ease, not really knowing what was waiting for me in the back seat.
when i go to get jonas out of his carrier, i see it. poo. everywhere. no where where it's supposed to be. on the seat. the sailor onesie. on baby thighs. on baby hands. i quickly realized that this was a serious situation.
donning my hazmat suit, i entered the back seat of my 2002 vw beetle. which is obviously the PERFECT choice of vehicle when having an infant. anyway, i get in the back seat and quickly start going into mom-mode. diapers...check. diaper cream...check. diaper wipes...um, what?
yeah. i only had one diaper wipe. ONE WIPE that was supposed to clean the wreckage that came blasting out of my child. rome wasn't built in a day, and one freaking wipe will not clean a pooey mess the literal size of rhode island. (disclaimer: i know that the pooey mess wasn't LITERALLY the size of rhode island, but i say it sometimes just to annoy john).
it was then i knew what had to happen. a blanket had to be sacrificed to the gods. it wasn't like i wanted to chemically destroy one of his blankets, and if i would have had a firehose handy, i would have certainly just hosed my child's butt (and thighs. and hands. and entire right side of his carseat) off. but i didn't.
we finally escaped the backseat of the beetle (oh yeah. forgot that's what we were crammed in? i didn't), gasping for air and falling to our knees, praising the sweet baby Jesus that we had made it out with only a few casualities.
needless to say (but i'm going to anyway. duh.), girl scouts don't ever stress the necessity of always being prepared. just SELL THE DAMN COOKIES OR DIE, BITCHES. the boy scouts get all the sound advice (and the great hats!).