Tonight hubby and I took the kids to a new restaurant; huge mistake. Aside from our typical $30 meal turning into $150, the kids still came home hungry.

The portions were ginormous and too gourmet for my little wiggles.

Meanwhile, Mr. Potato Head (aka: hubby) dined on french fries, mashed potatoes and fingerling potatoes as I ate a wilted salad and few bites of salmon.

However, during the never ending parade of plates piling onto our table, I felt that sudden cramp that’s usually accompanied by sweat.

Knowing that the diarrhea tsunami was coming, I quickly determined I had to grab youngest and skidaddle.

Hubby of course told me to use the public restroom, as if I’d torture the fellow patrons. Nope, I knew I had to race home.

And that’s exactly what I did. I called Nanny and asked her to open the door and watch youngest so I could make it to my bathroom.

With the determination of Ghandi, I squeezed my abandoned kegels as tight as I could and danced the entire drive home and nearly knocked Nanny down trying to make it inside.

Boy did I make the right call.

12 minutes and 4lbs later, I was back at the restaurant and picked up a pissed off hubby and two pooped children.