I am a great advocate for parenthood. I really make people want to step into the bliss of raising offspring to be productive and contributing members of society. Of course, I have two concrete examples to back up this satirical fact.
Today I'll share the first.
About a year ago, probably less, I had a 2.5 year old and a not-yet-one year old. A good friend (newly pregnant) was in town visiting, and as good friends who don't have kids yet do, she was coming along on our family trip to Sam's Club. (Oh my gosh, I legitimately felt sad when I realized what I just said. These are the outings of people with kids...) So we go to Sams Club, and decide to stop at my husband's favorite restaurant on our way home. Chick-fil-A. (Again, living the life over here.)
My super good friend, who I'm appreciating more and more as I tell this story, was sitting in the backseat of our SUV wedged between two car seats. She tried to participate in the front-of-the-car conversation, but my daughter would hardly allow that. She was talking her ear off about this and that, happy to have a verbal friend in the back with her instead of just her baby bro.
On our way to Chick-fil-A, said friend says, "I think J pooped. It stinks back here." Which we acknowledged with a "haha."
She tried to drive the point home further. "Okay, I know I'm pregnant, but I'm like seriously nauseous from this smell."
"Really? I don't smell it." Nose blinders like only a parent can have.
When we arrive at our destination, we decided my husband would go inside to pick up the food. So we're sitting the car seat and she says, "No, it like really stinks. He might have pooped through his diaper." He hadn't done that in forever.
"Nah, he probably just stinks," I say. "I'll change him when we get home."
At this point, she's leaning forward trying to escape my daughter's chatter and my son's stench. My daughter has successfully grabbed my friend's hair to attempt pulling her into the backseat again.
"No, Christen, he really stinks. Ow! Layna, that's my hair."
I get out of the car, walk around back and as soon as I open the door to the back where J is sitting I can see the poop.
"Ohhhh my...." is all I can offer.
I didn't dare get him out at that point because the seat was covered so it'd do no good to change the diaper that apparently nothing landed in. Thus, my husband returned, and we drove home. Probably the longest 10 minutes of my friends life. Her body strategically maneuvered to reach as far forward as she could while my daughter continued to pepper her questions and engage her in conversation. (The "get the hint" skill isn't reached until much later in life.)
I think I can say with confidence that she didn't exit the vehicle (sideways and with great force as she tried to bypass the car seat) wishing her pregnancy would fly by. Then again, one could argue that I prepared her well for her future. As of today, she's the proud mom of a baby boy. And when the day comes for her, I'll tell her how to strategically remove the car seat cover and wash it in the washer despite the fact that it says "hand wash." Because as she'll learn, no mom has time to hand wash.
Love you, friend.
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