Have you ever had one of those days? Well, I did not long ago.
It was Kinsley’s birthday. We took the van into the shop for repairs. My parents were in town. Ed was on campus. We decided to travel up to Sam’s Club to see if they had something for mom and dad’s restaurant that they didn’t have at the Sam’s Club in Myrtle Beach. We left
early earlier than I am used to getting out with both kids.
But because my van was getting worked on, we had to take my parents’ truck. Yes, a Dodge ram with two car seats in the back. A-little-snug. After 20 minutes rearranging the car seats, trying to squish Kinsley’s feet behind my dad’s seat, making sure all our stuff fit, etc., we headed out. We hadn’t brought anything for Kinsley to play with in the car, so it was a little crazy keeping her occupied on the way there. Then we arrive.
I decide to put Emerson in the front carrier so that she wouldn’t be in the car seat the whole time. I carry her into Sams, make it through the front door, and am trying to put her in the carrier (meanwhile the clerk that checks cards at the front door is STARING not very nicely through this whole process…not sure why) when I notice that she feels wet. Uh-oh. Life with a newborn. Constant blowouts. Meanwhile, Kinsley is throwing a major tantrum because she doesn’t want to ride in the cart and wants to walk. Life with an almost three year old. I can do it myself.
Off to the restroom we go – mom, Kinsley, Emerson, and me (how did my dad manage to skip out on all this? two words – free samples). Except the whole way to the restroom I am thinking about how I don’t have an outfit, but she is wet, what will I do if I can’t salvage the outfit, Kinsley is freaking out, the lady at the front door is staring, why does life have to be so crazy, etc. I walk into the bathroom and pull down the changing table which happens to be conveniently located by the door. I start pulling her stuff out, realize I don’t have an outfit, and am telling my mom through the cracked door, when it happens.
Mom says “April, look. You are in the mens restroom.” I look to my left to see a man washing his hands. Bless. His. Heart. He wasn’t looking at me, saying anything, or acting weird. He was just washing his hands quietly looking down. I am mortified. I pack up all of Emerson’s stuff and walk across the way to the womens restroom. Now, not only am I flustered about Emerson’s outfit, but I am having a monologue in my head about how in the world this could have happened. I was so flustered with all that was going down that I didn’t even look at the door. NOT EVEN ONCE. I just walked in, saw the changing table, assumed it was the womens restroom, and went at it.
That’s a lot to happen before 9:30 am. Yes, it was one of those days.