As part of my streamlined approach, I ditched carrying around an extra set of clothes for Noah. I guess I'd gotten overly confident in my son's ability to wear the same outfit for an entire day without incident, but it's been several months since I had to strip the kiddo down while out and about, so I figured we'd probably survive one afternoon of music class and a quick lunch with our favorite Mommy-daughter duo without needing a backup outfit.
In certain ways I suppose I am a Los Angeles cliché: my hair is "blonde", I've been known to complain that it's cold when the temperature dips below 50 degrees, and I always carry a bottle of water in my purse. Trust me, it's important to stay hydrated, especially when you're chasing after a small, but very fast-moving, human. Most days I'm very happy that I have that water in my purse… with the exception of this past Monday. Somewhere in the block between music class and my car, the cap came off of the bottle and water leaked through my purse and completely drenched Noah's pants while I was holding him. Upon first noticing that my child was sporting a pair of wet pants I assumed that he had peed through his diaper, but after closer examination it became evident that either he had some sort of syndrome that caused him to release inhuman amounts of urine or that he somehow got covered in an entire bottle's worth of water.
As I stood there on the sidewalk outside of my car I weighed the options: I could forgo lunch with our friends and instead whisk Noah home to change into some dry clothing and hopefully find something to feed him in the larder, or I could take him to lunch wearing his wet clothes and do my best not to expose him to drafts. I'm sure you won't be surprised when I tell you that I chose the latter. Look, it was a beautiful, sunny day in Los Angeles with temperatures in the 70's, we were both hungry, and I was in desperate need of adult interaction. Sure, I forced my poor kid to sit through a meal in wet pants, but can't we just look at it as some sort of training for the inevitable hazing he'll be forced to endure should he choose to rush a fraternity?
I know a better Mother than I would've raced home, swiftly changed her kid's clothes, and then magically prepared some delicious and protein-filled lunch to satiate both herself and her son, but that is most definitely not me. Hey, you probably would've made the same choice I did when given the option between eating questionable leftovers at home or a pecan babka roll at Sycamore Kitchen. Judge me harshly if you will, dear reader, but rest assured I have learned my lesson: I'm back to carrying a spare outfit in my purse.