Goodbye Last Shred of Dignity

So I made a new friend. She is cool and her son is very close in age to E.

We went to the Bay Area Discovery Museum with them on our first big play date. What a fun place. It is over in Marin and therefore filled with "Marin Moms." Women with perfect hair, nails done, outfits just so, looking perfectly dignified. Scowling at me in horror that my son is covered in strawberry Popsicle stains and my sunscreen self-application looks a lot like Heath's joker.

Actually his hair looks better.

I take E to the bathroom. Well of course my tampon leaked and of course E was right in the front row taking notes. He shouts, "Mommy! you pooped you pants!" I hear giggles from outside, I try to just ignore him and not make a big deal, you know no reaction, no big whoop, right? E is dancing around the stall (we were in the big one) shouting "mommy pooped her pants, mommy pooped her pants, mommy pooped her pants!" I walked out of the stall with my head down.

When J comes home he always asks E what we did that day. The answer is always,"I don't know." Because you know, naps erase the memory. Not that day.

"Mommy pooped her pants." is what we did on Wednesday, in case you were curious.

I am still not sure which is more traumatising that your mom poops her pants, or that your mom bleeds out of a mysterious hole that sometimes she stuffs with a white mouse with a long tail. I need more privacy.