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.