Sunday morning Kevin woke up and asked me if I wanted to go to J. Christopher’s for brunch. Two things you must know:
1. I love brunch at J. Christopher’s. I love the idea of brunch in general. And I love, love J. Christopher’s.
2. I had already been awake for three hours and had already eaten.
But Kevin is pretty cute and I took pity on him that he didn’t marry someone who makes a nice breakfast on Sunday mornings so I said we could go out for brunch but requested we go to Atlanta Bread Company instead. You see, I am still pretty intimidated when it comes to venturing out of the house with Tom to go to a restaurant. That sentence was meant to downplay the fact that I was so scared to do it, in fact, that I had never done it. Except once when my in-laws forced me to and it almost gave me a heart attack. And that was months ago.
In my mind, Atlanta Bread Company was an easier choice because ABC is not as nice as J. Christopher’s. More family-friendly if you will.
So we set out and went to the restaurant so Kev could get an egg and cheese croissant and some other thing that I’ve now forgotten and I could get a cup of coffee.
We were probably there maybe 10 minutes when Thomas let out a pretty loud grunt.
My child was pooing in ABC. My first real excursion to a restaurant and he was pooing! So I went to check out the restroom to see if they had one of those plastic, scary-looking changing table thingys and also to see if I could figure out how to work it because I’d never done it.
They had one and apparently all you need to do is pull it down. So, yeah…I could figure that out.
So I went back out to our table and took Tom out of his car seat and grabbed the diaper bag. Immediately I could tell I was out of my element. Just walking to the bathroom with my baby and my diaper bag required some major maneuvering and at least two complete strangers didn’t make it out unscathed. Sorry!
Once I made it to the bathroom, I pulled down the changing table thingy and that’s when I realized it — for the first time EVER Tom’s diaper didn’t hold his poo. And now I was holding his poo. All over Tom. All over me. All over everything I had touched.
Including the changing table, my changing mat, the diaper bag, the bathroom door. Everything!!
And there are only two stalls in this bathroom and they both had people in them. I wasn’t even alone in my horror.
So I try to put Tom on the changing mat but avoid putting him on one of my poopy fingerprints and I begin changing his major blowout of a diaper. All the while, more people are coming in the bathroom. Busiest bathroom day ever!
And I have stuff everywhere. I’m pulling out diapers and wipes and his extra outfit. I’m trying to wipe down the things I’ve touched (and myself!) so I can stop putting my child’s poo on everything.
And then Tom, who loves his changing table at home, begins to cry.
What, Tom? You don’t like being covered in poo and having strangers come in and out and stare at you? What’s not to like?!
I change him. And I change his clothes. I kind of hop over to wash my hand off while holding him with my good (not covered in poo) hand. Only to discover the paper towels are no longer dispensing. *Sigh.*
I pack everything back into the diaper bag and Tom and I emerge 10 minutes later feeling like we just survived something major together.
Kev looked up from his croissant, immediately noticed Tom’s new outfit, laughed and said, “What happened?”
And then I realized it. You know whose fault this is? Kevin’s! Kevin, who just had to have a croissant! Kevin, who is so laid back and has been making fun of me for being scared to go to restaurants! Kevin, who wasn’t covered in poo!
But did I point all this out to him? No.
Because this will surely happen again. And when it does, it will be Kevin’s turn. And I’ve decided it will keep being Kevin’s turn until he is also covered in poo at a restaurant.