This has definitely been a bloggable week. Bruce and I went to Chicago for the weekend to visit Karyn, Alli, and Andy. We went to the zoo every single day and got to see a lion roar, 13 piglets feed from their poor mama, and a polar bear carry a bucket around. We saw lots of other stuff too, but those were the highlights. We ate some yummy food too. One day we went to an amazing breakfast restaurant called Toast. Near the end of our lovely dining experience, one of the waitresses started playing with Bruce. He smiled at her and was being all flirtatious, then all the sudden got a huge frown on his face and burst into tears. I went to pick him up, only to find poop running down his legs and dripping onto his high chair, the table, and pretty much everywhere else.
I grabbed some napkins and sopped up some poo, but then where do you put poopy napkins at a nice restaurant? I put them on the table; I didn't know what else to do. After the flow of brown lava had at least slowed down, I carried him by the armpits to Karyn's house. Luckily, it was just around the corner; I didn't even have my diaper bag with me because I figured we'd be just around the corner! I took him straight to the bathtub, where I stripped him down and hosed him off. It was so nasty.
That was Embarassed Mom Moment No. 1 for the weekend. No. 2 came up on the way back to Boston. Karyn drove us downtown so we could take a train directly to the airport. However, we ran into some traffic and were a little late getting out the door anyway. We got on the train and got to the airport, where I had about 36 minutes until my flight left. So I ran (yes, ran with stroller and suitcase and diaper bag in tow) to the ticket counter. Luckily, there was no line and I breezed through there (although I was so late that my suitcase didn't get a real bag tag; it got some patch-job tag and went straight to the plane). I ran to security, where there were super-long lines.
I asked the security guard if there was any way I could skip ahead in the line. He said something along the lines of, "I get that request every 10 minutes. There's nothing I can do for you." I told him my flight left in 20 minutes. He said there was nothing he could do for me and that the only thing I could do was ask everyone ahead of me if I could cut in front.
There were about 30 people in front of me; by the time I asked everyone my plane would be taking off! That flight was also the last one to Boston for the day, so if I missed it I'd have to stay another night (which I would love more vacation, but I had tons of work to catch up on at home!). Those thoughts ran through my sleep-deprived brain (I'd had 5 hours of sleep the night before because I stayed up late cleaning and Bruce got up early) and I just started crying.
I hate crying. And even worse, I hate crying in public. But I was so flustered and saw that there was no chance I was getting on that plane. As soon as I started crying though, the security guard melted. "Oh no, honey, don't cry. It's okay. Here, follow me." Sure enough, he led me to the front of the line and even held Bruce while I folded up the jogging stroller - the whole time telling me it was going to be okay and that I didn't need to cry. After I got through security, I threw Bruce in the stroller and grabbed my shoes and diaper bag and hauled buns. I ran in my socks what seemed like a half-mile to my gate. I was the last person in; the door closed behind me. So while that was totally embarassing, it worked!
Maybe whipping out the tears wasn't so bad after all...
(The picture is of Bruce with his tongue hanging out. He's been doing that for a few days now. Pictures of Chicago to come.)