What I experienced today is definitely one of those "MOMents" I heard about a couple weekends ago.
After our typical Tuesday trip to the library for Baby Lap Time, Garrett and I headed to Champaign to get a few things at Walmart and to eat lunch at Bob Evans. Our waitress brought the milk I had ordered for Garrett in a cup with a curly straw poking up through its lid. Garrett's expression said, "That's the coolest thing ever, Mom!" (I think it was the first time he'd ever used a straw.) As we waited for our food, he colored with the orange and blue crayons he'd been given between 100 sips of milk from the cup with the curly straw. Soon, my lunch and Garrett's grilled cheese sandwich and fresh fruit were delivered to our table. Garrett had a minor meltdown when I insisted-without giving in to his crying (Go, me!)-that he eat one grilled cheese sandwich triangle before eating more grapes. We made it through his meltdown without attracting too much attention from the other patrons.
Here's where that MOMent really begins...
Garrett leaned forward to reach something, and his face turned red. I knew right away that he was pooping. We both still had quite a bit of lunch to eat, and I had a feeling he wasn't...um...done, so I decided I'd wait to head to the bathroom to change his diaper until we were finished eating. At one point, I asked our waitress if I could pay her. She said I should pay at the counter. I told her I needed to change Garrett's diaper and that I'd pay after that. (I didn't want her to think we had dined and dashed.) By now, it was apparent to my sense of smell that Garrett had really done a number in his size 4 Pamper. As we gathered our things and headed toward the bathroom, I heard one gentleman say, "Boy, he sure has some blue eyes!", and I swear that, as we passed their table, the other guy with him said, "...but he sure does stink!"
It was bad. Up-the-back, almost-ran-out-of-wipes, threw-his-onesie-away-when-we-got-home BAD.
To top it off, after hearing some...ahem...sounds coming from the other stall, I heard its occupant utter an expletive. Seconds later, she asked if I would please hand her some toilet paper. (We've all been there, right?)
The moral of this MOMent is: If you take your 18-month-old to Bob Evans for lunch, request the table closest to the bathroom.