Today I learned that the only thing worse than an ill-fitting, mismatched emergency outfit is... no emergency outfit at all. First thing this morning, I baked yet another six loaves of Amish Friendship bread, and consequently I was in a huge rush to get to my 9:30 Pilates class. (Okay, so I'm always in a huge rush to get there--or anywhere else for that matter.)
Anyway, that was the reason I forgot to check the diaper bag to make sure Allyson had a change of clothes. It was also the reason that I didn't take Allyson to the bathroom when we got to the gym. She never goes then, but normally I always take her just in case.
I had finished my workout and was lying on my mat, listening to soothing music and waiting for my head and shoulder massage, when a jarring voice interrupted the silence. "Sarah! You're needed in the childcare room."
Now I suppose I should have been worried that Allyson had hurt herself or gotten sick, but the first thought I had was, "Oh, please don't let it be poop." She was wearing her big-girl panties--the Dora the Explorer mermaid panties, to be exact--and I flashed back to the incident a few days before when I'd had to bring the Poop Spatula back out.
Thankfully, she was only wet. She and the sitter were standing in the bathroom, Allyson's panties and jeans in a soggy heap on the floor. The young lady was rifling through the bag. "I couldn't find any extra pants," she said.
I was so embarrassed! How could I not have brought an extra pair of pants for my potty-training toddler? I searched again for good measure. I found a pair of training pants, some big-girl panties, a Pull-Up, and a cloth diaper. I found two extra shirts and a pair of socks. I even found part of last week's craft from story hour at the library. But there were no extra pants of any kind.
I put her in the Pull-Up, though she protested that she wanted to wear the My Little Pony panties. "No, ma'am," I said. "No big girl panties when you wet your pants."
I looked at her thoughtfully. What should I do? It was still pretty cold outside, and I didn't want to take her out with bare legs. I finally decided to put her in my fleece jacket, which fit her like a potato sack. I had to roll the sleeves halfway up. She looked ridiculous, but so cute, in her evening-length jacket and socks and shoes!
Well, as far as embarrassing parenting moments go, it could have been much worse. It could have been a messy poop. It could have happened at church. She could have been 3-1/2, like Ethan was when he finally got trained.