I remember back when I only had one kid (which wasn’t a very long period of time because Kids #1 and #2 are only 19 months apart) and probably for a while when I had only two kids that every time we left the house, I brought supplies for any possible situation.  I had diapers and wipes and changes of clothes for every season.  Then I had extra diapers and extra wipes because, you never know.  I had special bags in which to put dirty diapers.  I had toys and snacks and games.  Diaper cream. Extra socks. Blankets. Binkies. You name it, I had it packed into the diaper bag.  And I was diligent about restocking it so that I never ran low, never mind ran out, of anything.

 

Throw a few more kids into the mix and it’s quite a different picture.  Now I try to remember to stuff a spare diaper and some wipes into my purse before we hit the road.  Long gone are the days of a thoughtfully packed and well-appointed diaper bag.  In fact, I’m not even entirely certain where the diaper bag is.  There are times when I forget to bring a spare diaper and then I just have to cross my fingers that the baby doesn’t poop before we get home.  I’m not saying this is a shining example of parenting.  I’m just saying it happens.  And when worse comes to worse, it gives me a good story to tell.

 

I will share with you the story of a time, back when we only had three kids, the youngest of whom was about 9-months old at the time, where my lack of preparedness left me in quite a pickle in the middle of a crowded restaurant at Christmastime.

 

Instead of giving gifts, we usually go out to dinner with my dad as his gift to us.  We make a big deal about going out with him and the kids think it’s big fun.  We, obviously, go somewhere kid friendly but we make it special by ordering milkshakes and desserts and all the good stuff we can pile on.  It’s a fun tradition.

 

We had mostly finished our meal and the kids were beginning to get restless.  I decided to change the baby’s diaper before we left so I headed to the bathroom with just a diaper and the pack of wipes.  Because I’m a third-time mom.  I don’t need a whole bunch of unnecessary baggage when I change my kid’s diaper.  I’m a master.

 

Yeah.

 

I got to the bathroom and, after scanning the visible wall space, determined that there wasn’t a changing table in this bathroom.  (We’ve since been back to this restaurant and I discovered that there actually is a changing table located in the handicapped bathroom stall but I didn’t know that at the time).  I wasn’t concerned with the lack of a changing table though.  Nope.  Not me.  I’m a parenting expert.  I don’t get thrown off by having to change my kid’s diaper on the counter by the sinks.  No problem.

 

Only when I laid her down and actually started to change her diaper, I discovered that she had pooped.  Because of course she had.  And it was a blowout.  Because the universe is a jokester like that.

 

So there we were, the baby laid out on the bathroom counter between the sinks, covered in poop, me starting to sweat as I prayed that no one else came into the bathroom to bear witness to what was going on.  I worked as quickly as I could.  I removed the dirty diaper and plopped on the clean one.  And then I was faced with the moment where I realized that I had nowhere to put the poop-covered clothes.  And I had nothing to dress the baby in.

 

So I did what many master-parent would do.  I confidently carried that naked baby and her poop-covered duds through the crowded restaurant, back to our table.  Everyone was impressed by me.  I just know it.

 

We reached our table, I handed the naked baby to my confused-looking husband and started to rifle through the diaper bag.  Look at me!  So prepared with the diaper bag!  Only there wasn’t a change of clothes for the baby in it.  All I had was a pair of 4T leggings that belonged to my older daughter.  Literally.  That’s all that was in the bag.  No onesie, no pajamas, no shirt in any size.  Just a pair of bright pink leggings with a stain on the knee.

 

It’s important to remember here that it was December and it was about 14 degrees outside.  So carrying her outside in just her diaper wasn’t really an option.  Or at least it wasn’t one that, even I, was willing to consider.

 

Things were going swimmingly.

 

By this point the older two kids had lost it completely and we needed to get out of the restaurant before we ruined dinner for all the people who were busily trying not to stare at the family with the two crazed kids and the naked baby.

 

So I did the only thing I could do.  I put the baby into the 4T leggings, my husband removed his (size XL) flannel shirt (he was wearing an undershirt, thank goodness), and I wrapped it around the baby.  Then I stuffed her inside the vest that I was wearing, zipped it up as best I could around both of us, and we made a beeline for the door.

 

Parenting genius.  Right here.