Before I got pregnant, I used to think I’d be the coolest mom someday. I’d be skinny and hot, carrying my baby around in a sling. I’d be so put together, so relaxed.

And then I had a baby who showed us within the first week of his life that he possesses the ability to shoot shit clear across the room, and all hope of ever being “cool” was immediately and absolutely eradicated.

Yesterday, my whole family went to Red Robin for my cousin’s birthday. Yes I said Red Robin, a chain restaurant famous for its loud “family friendly” ambiance, its onion-ring tower appetizer, and its greasy chicken burgers. It was my first mistake of the day: taking my baby to a restaurant with mediocre food and a migraine-inducing atmosphere. A Rookie mistake, y’all. Usually I try not to go anywhere further than walking distance in case I need to scoop up the Bubbs and run back to the safety of my house, where there are the comforts of A) Noah’s crib, B) my bed, C) toys, glorious distracting toys, D) our own diaper changing table, and E) NO OTHER PEOPLE.

Yes. I am this person. When did I become this person? I do not know how or when it happened. I’m mildly disappointed.

So we’re on our way to Red Robin and as usual, I’m doing my best to keep my anxiety below the surface. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, actually. I kept hoping the Bubbs would fall asleep, as it was his nap time and there was a lovely 20-minute drive to the restaurant, but instead he donned his Poop Face, started grunting, and the inevitable Poo-plosion happened shortly thereafter. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could sleep with poop in my pants, so I can’t blame him too much for not sleeping.

The bad thing about pooping while we’re not within walking distance of our house is it means changing a diaper FULL OF POOP out in public somewhere. On a nasty, germ-infested changing table in a fluorescent-lit bathroom. I don’t know if this is normal kid-behavior or what, but Noah HATES being changed on one of those Koala Kid changing deals. He usually looks around in horror for a few seconds before bursting into tears. It’s gotten so bad that I usually try to change him in the car if I have to change him. But when you cloth diaper and there’s a Poop Blowout, car-changes get really complicated. Especially when, as I’ve discovered fairly recently, that diaper is a Solid Food Poop Diaper.

Just…. wow.

Pause: see me stereotyping myself right now? I’m TALKING ABOUT MY KID’S POOP. I’d just like to remind myself that I do have a college degree. Ok, now I feel better. BUT DUDE, HIS POOP WAS TOTALLY GREEN.

As soon as we get inside, I take him to the women’s restroom and reach in the diaper bag for my changing pad, which I like using to lay on top of the public changing stations so I don’t have to lay my son down in effectively some other kid’s freakin’ poo leftovers. And as I’m digging around my mind flashes to the load of laundry that is sitting in the dryer with that very changing pad right inside it. Damn. I decide to paper towel it. Next I reach in my bag for my cloth wipes, which I need to wet before I lay Noah down on the paper towelled changing station. See, I’ve learned. The first twenty or so times I did this, I didn’t think to wet the wipes until I’d stripped him down, and then I had to pick him up, naked, and walk over to the sink so I could wet my wipes. And as I’m digging around I realize, with some disbelief at my incredible stupidity and bad luck, I have run out of wipes and neglected to put any more in the bag. DOUBLE DAMN. I decide to paper towel it.

Oh, yeah. In case you aren’t visualizing this, I’m the mom in the public restroom who has placed randomly-sized pieces of paper towels on the open Koala Kids Changing table. I am juggling a baby on my hip and I have an overflowing diaper bag on my arm, and I’m wetting wads of paper towels, which I’m simultaneously trying to keep my baby from grabbing and ripping to shreds.

And I think ahead, so I’m all, “I’ll wet four paper towels, JUST IN CASE.”

Another thing I’ve learned is that Noah is easily distractible. If I sing to him and smile real big, he’ll tolerate the changing station for a couple of minutes. But on this particular occasion, when I took off his pants and discovered poop all over his legs and my hand, my eyes wide as dinner plates, I’ve forgotten to sing and I’m definitely not smiling, Noah starts crying. And where he used to only cry for 30 seconds worst-case-scenario, he has now discovered the art of rolling from his back to his front and in this case, OFF THE CHANGING TABLE. So I lunge to catch him, hands covered in poo mind you, the paper towels all bunched up, useless, on the side so he is face down on the changing table WITH NO CLOTHES ON.

And that is when my mother, like a beam of radiant light from Heaven itself, comes in to see if she can help. I nearly cried with relief. We ended up having to stand Noah up to clean him off. I had to go back for more wet towels like three times. And then, as much as I love cloth diapering, I questioned it all as we had to put poo-covered clothes AND THE POO-FILLED DIAPER in a Red Robin to-go bag. I was sorely tempted to toss the bag in the garbage can on the way out of the restroom because, who wants to open a to-go bag of POOP later?

If this was the end of the story, it would be a funny one someday. But the end of the story doesn’t come until we’re safely back in our car on the way back home, because between the bathroom and when we left Noah got pureed peas all over himself, my shirt, and the booth, cried because he hadn’t napped, cried when I tried to nurse him (which attracts a lot of unwanted attention, I must say), finally nursed and fell asleep only to be immediately awakened by a team of Red Robin servers who gathered around our table, clapping and shouting HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my cousin. And I was all, “is this my new life?!”

All that is to say that I’m contemplating not leaving the house again until Noah is potty trained.

Oh, and that mom that you saw while you were out and swore you would never be? THAT WAS ME.