My one-year-old, who is normally very good and usually never fusses, was beyond consolation all morning. He didn’t want food, drink, bottle—nada. So, like any normal mother, I put him back to bed and let him stew it out in the comfort of his crib. He finally dozed off ten minutes before we had to leave.
When I woke him up, he reached a new level of pissed off. What is his problem? I wondered as he writhed and screeched all the way to Target. (I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t grit my teeth a few times in annoyance.) But it was there, at the pharmacy counter while discussing my other son’s prescriptions, I found out just what my baby’s problem was.
I had lifted him out of the cart to stand on the counter, hoping it would distract him so I could talk to the pharmacist. And then ... his diaper fell off. Disintegrated, actually. It was so wet, the little gel-like balls that line the inside of a diaper poured out and covered the counter, causing the pimply-faced technician to back away in uncomfortable alarm. The sopping diaper fell with a loud splat on the counter, reeking of urine and looking like yellow roadkill.
“Uh, is he like, okay?” The technician asked me.
“He’s fine!” I snapped, saying I’d be back for the prescription. I snatched up the sopping mess and glared at the elderly woman staring at me in disapproval. “And please add grape flavor to the amoxicillin!” I called over my shoulder as we left.
Yes people, I forgot to change my boy’s diaper when he woke up this morning. And, much like a meth head, I let his poor bottom fester in the soaked diaper all morning, through a forced nap, ending in a naked butt at Target. But with my head held high, mind you, for I will not be shamed!, I walked out of that store, ignoring the stares at my now-happy one-year-old’s dangling pee-pee.
Hello, my name is Crystal, and I am now a Walmart customer.