Remember that mom you saw?
The one you turned your nose up at, and whispered disgustingly about to your husband? (Who was shopping with you on a Thursday morning and whom, I can only assume, was holding your purse. Or was that a murse?)
Remember that mom? You turned away from her as she changed her baby's dirty, poopy diaper in the trunk of her car.
You coughed in that I'm-trying-to-be-obvious-that-it-smells-in-a-completely-passive-aggressive way as you walked past her Volvo and stepped up to your minivan.
You looked at that mom and thought to yourself "I would never be that mom. I could never change my baby in the trunk in front of a store that could possibly have a changing table inside."
You turned away as that mom pulled up her baby's pants, put the dirty diaper in a baggie and had the balls - the nerve, the gall - to throw that dirty diaper baggie in a trashcan in front of the store.
You would never throw a diaper - even in a bag - in a public trashcan where others might smell it. Or worse, see it. You would never change your baby in a trunk. Your baby is perfect and wouldn't even think about pooping at a time when you have other things to do.
Your baby would never try to stick his hands down his pants to get at that squishy stuff.
And, you - well, you are perfect. In your minivan, with kids who don't poop in public.
Remember that mom?
Hi. **waves** Nice to meet you.
We'll meet again someday. And I can only hope that on that day Bjorn knows how to throw and has finally figured out how to get into that squishy stuff in his pants. . . . .