I was reminded of something funny yesterday while cleaning the bathroom. Somehow items accumulate in the back of the cabinets and never seem to find their way to the trash can.
Anyway, as I was happily tossing out junk left and right, I came across (now men brace yourselves) some of those giant industrial pads you are given at the hospital after you have a baby. Yeah, those.
I can’t even imagine why I still had two of these pads since its been 6-1/2 years since the birth of my last child. Not to mention we’ve moved since then and I’m not sure how these pads made the cut as an acceptable item to bring along.
But seeing these pads reminded me of a night when my oldest son was two years old and the other about 6 months.
At the time the Wild Boar was Chief of Staff at the hospital and a member of the Board of Directors. These two jobs required us to entertain an endless amount of hospital administrators and various community leaders. We often went to restaurants but it was always more personal to invite them to our home for dinner. I called it the schmooze and booze hour but that’s just me.
I enjoyed entertaining but the Wild Boars job (delivering babies, emergencies and surgeries that never seemed to run on time) often forced me to socialize with the “Big-Wigs” as I called them, by myself. These Big-Wigs were often at my house having a cocktail before we even knew the Wild Boar was not going to make it home. It was always so much fun. Luckily I can talk a lot about nothing, so I survived what often seemed like an endless evening.
I usually had a babysitter and the kids were always asleep by 7 PM so they were not a problem or distraction.
However, on one particular night my sitter canceled and two male hospital executives, who were in town evaluating the hospital, were going to join us for dinner at our home.
I had been cooking all day and was actually looking forward to the night we planned. I never met these two men before but heard good things about them.
Upon their arrival, one of the nurses from labor and delivery called to inform me the Wild Boar had to perform an emergency c-section on his labor patient. He would be delayed about 1-2 hours. Ugh.
So I had no sitter, no hubby and two nice young gentlemen at my house who were more than gracious about the whole situation. I served them a drink and we sat down in the family room just in time for the baby needing a diaper change (of course).
I left these two men with my very precocious 2 year old who could speak and articulate words as well as any adult. He had no fear and no problem capturing the attention of his newly found audience.
Of course the baby had one of those massive cream-poop filled diapers, you know the ones where the poop migrates out of the diaper and up to their necks. Not an easy clean up job, but requiring my two year old hooligan to be with the Big-Wigs longer than reasonably safe. But I had no choice.
This is where it got ugly or funny depending on how you look at it. As a mom I’ve learned to just get over the many embarrassments my children have bestowed upon me. It goes with the job.
While I was away, SOMEHOW, and I’ll never know WHY, my two year old hooligan had gone into my bathroom cabinet and pulled out a basket full of those GIANT pads. He removed all the strips that allows them to stick. He then stuck the pads all over the family room walls, the floors and on the couch next to these two men I had only known for about 20 minutes.
I felt like dying a thousand deaths. There were about twenty (don’t ask me why I had so many) mattress-sized-maxi pads (with wings) everywhere. Just everywhere.
My two guests sat there, holding their martinis, pale and uneasy, looking for the best exit strategy. One of them tried to say something witty but it bombed and left the room in a deafening silence.
I gasped and started running around ripping the pads off the walls and the sofa.
I went to throw the giant wad of pads into the trash can but some were stuck to my hands and shirt as I tried shoving them into the receptacle. Did I already say I could have died.
The worst part was one of the Big Wigs was fairly young and did not have kids or a wife. He would have no idea why I would need maxi-pads that were 14 inches long, 3 inches thick and with wings rivaling that of an eagle. I did not even try to give any excuses or explanations.
Luckily the Wild Boar made it home for dessert. He had no idea what type of humiliation I had suffered earlier.
But as we were finishing up the Wild Boar got up to throw something away. The trash can was fully visible from where we were sitting. When he stepped on the pedal to open the can, a giant wad of pads stuck to the lid flew out like a bunch of magic trick snakes all over the floor.
The three of us at the table quickly looked away and started talking about something else. The Wild Boar cleaned up the mound of pads and returned to the table with an odd look on his face we all happily ignored.
I think I’ll put the two giant pads I found yesterday into the hooligan’s baby memory capsule. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the story someday. I will surely never forget it.