Always Be Prepared

I’m organized. A list maker. A note taker. A bag packer extraordinaire. But none of that matters when it’s supper time, and you’re at the mall with a two-year old.  Yesterday after working from home most of the day, I took RJ on an adventure to my office. He had been asking all week, and ever the doting mommy, I promised him we’d go.

As “biglaw” law offices go, ours is pretty relaxed and darn child-friendly. People smile when they see a toddler coming; they leave their doors open and candy dishes within reach. A politician-to-be, Ryan James loves to visit. “I’m Ryan,” he says to everyone. “I have juice.” A flawless opening line; I'm sure he'll be president. 

Loaded up on candy bars from my assistant’s candy dish and full of stories about the cranes he saw working on the new Devon tower, little man climbed into the backseat. We were off to Babies-R-Us--a store specially designed to make every mother feel just a little inferior. I mean, I never bought a pre-natal education system for RJ so that he could listen to classical music in-utero. But I bought him a heated wipe warmer, so it all evens out, right?

A collapsible potty seat later (yes, updates to come), and we were on our way to Quail Springs Mall. It was payday. And Friday. And date night for every awkward 15-year old in the greater Oklahoma City area.  Worlds were colliding, but we forged ahead.

As we waited in line for our seats at El Chico, I looked down at RJ. He braced his arms on the bench; his eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh No!” I thought. “He’s having a seizure!”

“Ry, baby, you okay?” I asked, with my hand reaching for my phone to call 911. “Oh,” he shouted, “I pooped! I feel better.” Sure enough, a quick sniff confirmed the dirty deed. Sheepishly, we sneaked past 10 pairs of eyes. Some sympathetic. Some disgusted. All hoping we'd be seated in another section.

A Huggie change in the backseat is always tricky--more so when you’re using the emergency Huggie and crossing fingers for a rogue Wal-Mart bag to turn up under a seat.  Thankfully, RJ can entertain himself. As soon as we reached the car, he found a book and relaxed in the backseat reading while mommy changed his pants. When he’s bringing a book to the change table, it’s time to start potty training.

Clean pants, a new found cowboy hat, and a Huggie tied up in a Wal-Mart bag (yes! score!), RJ was ready for supper. We stood outside the mall, and he told me, “Ry eat at home.” I should’ve listened. Service was slow. I still didn’t have a diaper bag, so there was no mommy-magic: no hot wheels pulled from no where; no books; no crayons. We made do. I’m not proud, but I can tell you that, properly mommy-marketed, a drink menu can be a fun-filled story about Margarita and her trusty sidekick Jose Cuervo.

I am prepared, most of the time. But last night served as a reminder that I may never be one of those Babies-R-Us moms with every cracker packaged, and every poop planned. But, I’m a pretty good improviser, and that makes all the difference.