In Which I Took My Toddler to a Baby Shower

Well, our communication was off again – Andy’s and mine, I mean.  There are times when we’re really, really good at telling each other our plans outside of work, politely sending appointments to each other’s Outlook calendars so we can visually plan our days.  And there are times like yesterday, when we realized that Andy had an after-work meeting on the same night when I was planning on going to my friend Jaime’s mini shower (which we were holding to, in some way, try to band-aid the fact that we had to cancel her mega-shower due to hospital bedrest).

“I guess I can’t go.”

“Or… you could bring Graham.”

Bring. Graham.  Bring Graham!  Of course… that would be socially acceptable, why not?  And of course it was.  As Jaime aptly put it in her response to my email asking permission to bring the insaniac, “We’ll all probably have a better time with him here than you will – but we’ll all love it!”

So, after work, I picked my boy up from school and we drove off to Ms. Jaime’s for a baby shower.

Graham settled in immediately.  We tried really hard to find cartoons on TV, which is not as easy on a Wednesday night as I wish it had been. (Although, G doesn’t really pay much attention to the TV anyway.) Graham explored the house, played peekaboo over and under her kitchen table, and mostly just… walked around the place, as toddlers tend to do.

Guests arrived and Graham continued to warm up. He showed off some of his new shiny words. Said, “Helloooo” and “Hiiiii” to the other girls when they arrived. In fact, Graham took a particular shining to my [35-weeks-pregnant] friend Kim, walking up to the chair she was in, waving and saying very small, “Hi”s every once in awhile.

Graham left the presents – which were on the ground – completely untouched.  I was so proud. He forgot to use his inside voice many times and well… for a year-and-a-half-old boy in a room full of women when his mother had brought no toys… he did amazing.

He even busted out his new sign for “potty”. I make it a point to change his diaper after he signs ‘potty’, so I changed him in the living room (since clearly I have no tact.)  I noticed that I was changing him into the last diaper in his bag, which always makes me nervous, but whatever because we were only going to be around for an hour anyway.

That last paragraph is what my English teacher called ‘foreshadowing’, by the way.

Graham ate some of the ravioli and carrots I’d brought for him, indulged in the tomatoes off my salad, walked around with his sippy full of water taking drinks every now and again.  We split just a bit of tiramisu and an oreo cookie. I got out a wet wipe and asked him to wipe his mouth, and he obliged and wiped his mouth. I asked for the wipe back, and he gave it back to me – but not before he took the wipe and patted his boy parts first. You know, for good measure.

The girls and I commenced post-dessert chat while my son played peek-a-boo with no one in particular from behind Jaime’s curtains. Not a minute later, still behind the cover of curtains, Graham ripped a huge fart. This is when I started thinking we should leave before we scared all the pregnant women to death. I fought my instinct and stayed longer.

That’s when I started to smell something. Of course. Because he’s wearing his last clean diaper. So what did I do? I dug his other clean-and-not-even-very-wet diaper out of the kitchen trash, wiped off a little basalmic dressing that had gotten on a bit of the waistband, and I hauled Graham off to the bathroom.

Not that the basalmic diaper I was about to change him into wasn’t bad enough, but… well… how do I put it?  Graham was an absolute mess, appearing to be cooking up a stomach virus for sure. “Oh maaannnn,” I moaned to nobody in particular. “Okay,” I thought, “Stay calm. Get him cleaned up and get out of here before the puking starts.”

So that is just what I did.  We got the bad diaper contained in a plastic bag – which I always keep in my purse, washed hands, left the bathroom spotless, got Graham dressed, and headed out to the living room. “Well! We’d better head out! Good seeing you all! Thanks for everything!” and by the time I’d uttered those words, I’d cleaned up after Graham’s meal, grabbed his shoes, thrown them in his backpack, put my own shoes on and was on my way out the door.

I prayed the entire way home we’d make it without him puking in the car, and we did. Graham actually never acted like he felt badly. He sang and clapped along with the radio on the way home. He still enjoyed reading books with his Daddy.

In fact, when he woke up this morning, it’d been 12 hours since that epic diaper with no other signs of illness or distress.  Oookay. So I took him to school. When I told his teachers about it so they could keep an eye on him today (I’m 100% a full disclosure kinda girl), Ms. Marie said, “You don’t think it was the orange slices he ate for snack yesterday afternoon? Another child had that exact same problem just before he left for home yesterday. I don’t know why, but oranges just affect some kids that way.”

Oranges. Not the stomach flu. Not some weird public swimming pool parasite…


So, there you go. I feel 200% better just hearing that he’s likely not ill. I can’t believe all that happened yesterday. I’m certain at least a couple of those girls saw me dig an old diaper out of the trash, but ahh well. When they’re moms, they’ll understand I suppose.  😉


  1. Love. it.

  2. Laughed out loud at several points. I think that you should invest in a super secret emergency stash of diapers that you keep with the spare tire…it’s cutting it too close for the second time this week :)

  3. Grandma Sue says:

    Very entertaining post! That sums up a day in the life with a toddler. I used to keep a spare diaper in the glove box of the car.

  4. Oh my, this made me laugh out loud. I think they have a secret radar for knowing when you’ve used your last diaper…or maybe the anxiety/fear/desperate yet unconvincing reassurance that pumps through our veins as we realize we’ll be potentially unarmed should a blowout occur signals the release of pheromones only detectable by toddlers of our own flesh and blood (this has to be, right? Because it’s not like every other 16 month old is crapping through their clothes in Target the moment I notice I forgot my diaper bag at home). In any case, I think the “super secret emergency stash” is a good idea…I have my own hidden under a seat in the car!

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