A few weeks ago, when the temperature started climbing into the 90's inside, James and I spent a day taking the kids out and avoiding our apartment. We were in the middle of an adventure at Verizon when Ethan started repeating the phrase "yucky, yucky poopy." He says that whenever he needs a diaper change, regardless of the nature of said diaper. It had been so hot that we had been pushing fluids into them, and Ethan's diaper was a little worse for the wear. I got to the car and discovered there were no diapers in sight. Ethan and I trooped over to the neighboring gas station, where they stocked size 3 diapers and nothing else. That might have covered one of Ethan's butt cheeks. Maybe. We wandered over to Kmart, which was just a little further, and decided to call James. Except that his phone was being serviced. So here we are, hurrying through the store, over in the pharmacy section. We find all sorts of baby wipes, but no diapers. I did glance briefly at the small adult diapers, but only because I felt *so* bad for my little squishy butt. I can't even imagine how awful it would be to be swimming in your own pants.
We finally asked an employee, who directed us to the infant clothes section. Who'da thunk it.
I selected my little package of Luvs, and decided to tuck away into the back corner to change him there. When I crouched down and pulled off Ethan's little pants, I discovered his diaper had already fallen off. Seeing as we had walked through half of the store, and James was certainly worried about where we were, we had to forgo an extensive search. We did give it a half-hearted look-around, and vowed never to show our faces there again. I still feel bad for the poor person who ended up discovering the aftermath of 3 hours worth of forced beverages.
No comments:
Post a Comment