D gave me a ring today and asked us to lunch. We had an errand to run, so we found ourselves at a lovely little restaurant for lunch.

Suddenly E started to get cranky. You would too, if a POOP BOMB went off in your pants. All over his clothes, car seat, Derek's hands. It was truly an overwelmingly disgusting incident. The snooty French people at the table across from us pretended that it wasn't (and we weren't) happening. You think that incidents like this would teach me to carry a diaper bag around, right.

Yeah, not so much.

He was MUCH happier when it was all over, after I went back to the car and changed him. It's times like this that I wish I had one of those really big wrenches to crank open a fire hydrant. I'm guessing that might not have gone over very well in that section of King Street.

Below is representative of a similar explosion that happened 10 minutes before we were SUPPOSED to leave for NY last Friday.