one last story

left: nothing like a good, solid, freak-the-heck-out first thing in the morning

middle: a close-up of the puffy sad face

right: daddy makes it all alright with a little bit of banana/peanut butter shake

it was another monday this morning for sure. up at 5am to get ready for the gym, packing a bag and almost ready. then john woke up at 545am and FREAKED THE HELL OUT. for an hour. awesome. needless to say we did NOT make it to the gym. we barely made it to work and school. thank god daddy came home from the gym and whipped up a a banana/peanut butter/protein shake, which john promptly dubbed "milk" and ate half of. but it cheered him up, so i am endlessly indebted to the daddy. (again.)

*    *    *

but that's not why i am here today. today, i am here to tell one last story from our trip home from maryland. (yes, a week ago. but this one's a doozy and i had to let it marinate for a little while.)

oh sure, i could tell stories about how john saw an elephant-shaped river on the flight up to maryland, so he looked out the window the whole trip home saying, "elephant, where are you??" or how he was so well-behaved on the plane, and even patient with a delay before take off. or how when we flew over lake pontchartrain on the way back into new orleans, he looked down at the water and said, "fishies? where are you fish!?"

but instead, i will tell you about ... the family restroom. (insert "dun dun DUN!" sound effect here.)

at bwi, i needed to use the bathroom and john needed a diaper change, so we headed to the restroom in the terminal. i was thrilled to see they had a family restroom - a little more room for john to move around while i do my business, and a contained area so he can't climb under the partitions to another stall, etc.

i pulled the door open and was a little perplexed by the hydraulic device that seemed to operate the door - once you swung it open, it opened VERY slowly, and it had to open all the way before you could close it ... equally slowly. probably a protection for little fingers, i thought, and let it go at that.

so i locked the door, and looked around - a HUGE family restroom. probably something like 15 feet from the toilet to the door. empty space with very little for john to touch - just my speed.

i sat down on the toilet while the whirling dervish did his best to circumnavigate the room 20 times in 20 seconds. and just as he reached the far side of the room ... someone outside opened the door. it slowly swung open ... revealing a man in a business suit. guess he wanted to take advantage of the extra space for his luggage.

and ... guess the lock didn't work.

so the door did it's slow open-all-the-way-before-you-can-close it act. and i, in my infinite wisdom, yelled to my not-quite-two-year-old, "john, close the door for mommy!" while trying to keep myself covered. as people walked by in the hallway toward the main restroom. and that's when john tried to run out the door.

i don't know who was more mortified, that poor business man or myself. he was trying to look the other direction while fumbling to pull the door closed for me. and he sort of ... shuffled john back in the door, right as i leaped up and sneakily pulled my pants up, hoping to preserve some modicum of dignity. (who am i kidding, that was LONG gone.)

the door did finally close. with john inside with me. we were safe. we were ... decent.

i took my sweet time finishing up and then changing john's diaper, dreading the moment of facing anyone outside of the restroom. surely, i thought, SURELY, my business man friend was kind enough to have left. and gone ... anywhere else. maybe even booked another flight for tomorrow, just in case we were on the same plane?

when john and i finally exited, red-faced, he was nowhere to be seen. no one seemed any the wiser to our predicament - they were either very kind or very unaware. john and i beat a hasty retreat to meet up with my husband, and thank the good lord that business man was not sitting next to us on the plane.

i can hear that dialog now. "why hello, ma'am. what a cute child you have. and may i add, you are a pretty good mother even with your pants around your knees. you conducted yourself with aplomb."

or blatant, abject mortification, take your pick.