The other night, hubby and I took the kids out to dinner with some friends. During the meal, Eats All Night decided it was time to shit through his outfit causing extreme panic in me.
I knew instantly I would be held up in my van “bathing” him. Twenty minutes later, we were back inside the restaurant but the meal had already ended.
While I scarfed down my meal, hubby and the kids played in the mall. Not five minutes into whole swallowing my food (much like a hungry animal), my friend’s husband was paged to pick up their other children from a playdate.
So, there I was, alone with Eats All Night at the empty table with my cold dinner half eaten.
I left to get hubby and the kids, who had called me at the table to inform me that N.Non-Eater had a sissy accident.
We all went to the car and I quickly changed her into her spare clothes, while Eater decided she had to go more potty.
There I was, back at the van or better known as the port-o-potty, reviewing in my head all that had transpired that evening, all the while chastisizing Eater for also making in her pants, as hubby calmly repeated: “it happens.”
hubby: it happens. Eats All Night had an accident. N.Non-Eater had an accident, Eater had an accident…and even mommy just had an accident.