March 3, 2008
Last weekend, my wife and her parents were out looking at new rentals, since we’re bursting at the seams of our apartment. My mother-in-law is a realtor, so she had access to all the listings available in the MLS system. We ended up finding an absolutely beautiful condo for rent, close to my work. Even better, the lady who owns it isn’t looking to move out until late April or early May, which works perfectly for us, as we’re locked into our apartment lease until the end of April. Even better, our apartment company is looking to raise our rent, and we currently rent our appliances, so while our total rent will go up in the new place, it’s going to be a much better deal for us, and a much nicer place.
We finished up our rental search, and my wife wanted to take her parents to a new church we were looking at. It’s one of those mega-churches, similar to the church we attended in Georgia, where they offer things like child care, etc. Given that we’d never been there, we weren’t about to hand Wyatt over to a caretaker, so my wife and her mother went into the main auditorium, while Wyatt, my father-in-law, and I stayed out in the foyer (where they had speakers/monitors showing what occurred).
That’s when it started to get interesting.
I’m a hands-on father, so I don’t run away from taking care of the messier portions (although I’ll gladly pawn it off on others when I can!) of child-rearing. Thus, when I saw Wyatt get “the look” on his face, and heard him start making grunting noises, I realized #2 was coming. I knew it was either my father-in-law or I that would have to take care of it, and diaper duty isn’t Grandpa’s job*. So it was me.
I took Wyatt into the bathroom, got the changing table all set up, and got ready to get to work. The changing table was obviously uncomfortable, and they had speakers in the bathroom area (they were still playing music) and Wyatt was not at all happy. He’s screaming, and I’m rifling through the diaper bag looking for a diaper. I can’t find any. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I nearly tried prayer!
Knowing that I had to get the job done, I ended up getting him cleaned up (thankfully we had plenty of wipes), wrapped a burp cloth around him, got him clothed, and went back to find my father-in-law. I let him know “We’ve got a problem”. We were about to leave and check the car for more diapers (or even to head to the store), when we thought of the nursery area. We found our way down there, they gave us a couple diapers to get through the crisis, and we ended up with little more than something to complain to the wives about when they emerged at the end of the service.
But that’s one crisis I could have done without!
* I guess there are some advantages to being a Grandpa… You get lots of this:
And I’m the one who gets to clean this up!
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