Just one more real life story from the holidays. Real life is so full of inspiration!
It was a disaster. When I say disaster, I don't mean like when your airhead girlfriend says, "Today was such a disaster! I had to drive all the way home for my shopping list, then I was late for my hair appointment..."
I mean the kind of disaster where the cockroaches hide, ashamed of their resilience to such catastrophe. Let me explain the scene.
Like us, a lot of our friends went home to their parents' for Christmas. That means for a couple of days, all my husband's childhood friends (and some of my favorite people!) were within a 10 mile radius. We had arranged to go see Thomas and Carole. His parents live just 3 minutes away, so we bundled up the kiddo and ran over for a pre-lunch appertif. We were thrilled to have more time with our "bosom friends" - we were in each other's weddings and now are sharing parenthood, our second and their first baby due just 2 months apart.
When we arrived, the grandmother was holding Thomas' one-month old niece. "Young parents don't know anything," she said. We nodded, but felt pretty self-assured that it was first-timers who didn't get it.
Everyone was cooing over the tiny baby and laughing over our son's antics, when he said the deadly word, "Caca!"
Large gifted French noses around the room confirmed the diagnosis within seconds. My son spread his legs apart and toddled toward me, as everyone hooted. And I realized that I had made the stupid young mom mistake; I hadn't brought the diaperbag.
We were only 3 minutes away from home, we were only going to stay 45 minutes. Bad excuses.
The way he was walking, we had to do something before putting him in the car. Papa and Tonton Thomas took the boy up to the bathroom, thinking they'd be able to just put his sweatpants back over his bare bottom. "You can still smell it!" Thomas' brother roared with laughter.
A couple minutes later, my husband called for reinforcements...Mama. Suffice to say, not even the socks made it. His sweatshirt was the only thing we could put back on him. I should mention that the guys were in Boy Scouts together. So they took a plastic fruit bag and some disposable tissues to form a temporary diaper.
"I don't think that's oranges," someone joked pointing to the bar code stamped across the little plastic butt. I wrapped my scarf around his legs against the cold and we quickly said our goodbyes. Stupid young parents.
In the car, we discovered that we were now 45 minutes late for lunch. My French mother-in-law believes that everyone needs a hot sit-down meal for lunch and had come home from work to prepare it for us. We were at serious risk for a scolding. Irresponsible stupid young parents.
I rushed the kiddo upstairs to dress him, discovering the Boy Scout diaper had apparently been comfortable, necessary and effective, as the boy had peed in it. At the table, we apologized. Unnecessarily, it turns out. I had forgotten something; the French are rarely on-time. If you want to be polite, be late and give the hostess a little extra time to prepare. My mother-in-law wasn't annoyed at all and had just finished preparations. She then took the opportunity to laugh her "derrière" off at her irresponsible stupid children. That's called coming full circle and being a grandparent - lucky people who get to play with the kid for a weekend and laugh at the poop.
I guess that's parenting and that's life. You make a stupid mistake, you're in deep caca and you figure something out. You think it'll be a big deal, but it's a big joke. Myabe it's a French thing; after all, the rooster is a national emblem because he knows how to keep crowing, even when his feet are in a pile of...caca.