Holy Explosion, Batman!

You know those stories our parents love to tell just to embarrass the crap out of us? Like Matt's "You're not the boss of my pants!" story or the one where I... well, come to think of it, I don't have an embarrassing stories about myself to share. (The privilege of writing this post.) Anyway, now that I'm a parent, I guess I can start collecting stories about Violet that I can tell at inopportune times, like when she introduces us to her boyfriend for the first time. Here's one.

So I'm over at the neighbor's. Turns out, A. is just as big of a West Wing fan as I am, and having nothing better to do, she invited me over for a little viewing party. Once her little boy fell asleep, our attention turned to Violet, who ended up being the star of the show, naturally. The West Wing went on in the background as we plunked Violet down on the UGA blanket and attempted to teach her colors and numbers and how to reach for things. Everything was going smoothly; eventually it was time for her to eat (the West Wing is a Pavlovian trigger for her since I watch it most mornings during her breakfast). Afterward, as I often do, I sat her on my lap so we could finish watching the show together.

Suddenly I heard (and felt) it. She was having a party in her pants. But no worries, I live right next door. I would just take her home and change her, and perhaps finally bring over some diapers to keep at A.'s house. But before I could move, the pants party continued into an after-party. And this party was rocking.

"Oh my gosh!" I gasped.

"What?" A. asked, looking over, concerned.

We both look down. The party had spilled into the streets. My lap was covered, and I mean covered, in poop. But with horror, I realize that I'm not the only victim. There is poop all over A.'s couch. I was appalled. Just speechless. The only thing I could think to say was the apt, "Oh Sh!t" over and over. Sweet A. was so calm, telling me not to worry, she needed to wash the couch cushions anyway and I was just helping her jump start her to-do list, her kids made messes like this all the time... Meanwhile I'm half laughing and half dying of embarrassment.

We wrapped Violet, who was grinning from ear to ear like it was the funniest thing to happen all day, in a dish towel and I marched her home and straight into the bathtub. Later I confessed to my neighbor that I'd eaten Varsity the night before while we pre-gamed for the Conan show. It must have been the chili dog, we concluded. By then the cushions were nice and clean and I was able to make my amends by helping reassemble the couch. I also brought over flowers, Clorox wipes (if you knew A., this would make sense. She's a bit of a Monica), and some recent pictures of the pooper herself as a peace offering. Naturally, this last bit was what earned forgiveness.

And now we have a story we can tell Violet when she gets older. "One time you pooped on the neighbor's couch..." Yep, I can hear it now!