Table 144

So after some horse pills of unknown potency, I emerged from the craftmatic adjustable deathbed yesterday in time for several mall temper tanrums (Alice's cousins, not mine).
After crying fits in Children's Place, Old Navy, and the Disney Store, I'd forgotten that my daughter exists. She, however, continued existing and had consumed three sippy cups of juice as a coping mechanism. Soon after, she had managed to pee through her pants and all over her stroller (which still needs to be washed from Charlie's pee, because hey, it jsut wipes right off!). So she's soaked. We get in the subway dirtiest mall bathroom I've ever seen and Mel says, "I'll stand her on the counter and maybe we can change her without touching anything." This is made possible by grandma's stroke of Old Navy genius and a new pair of $3.97 baby yoga pants.
Unfortunately, my upright daughter was undresssed and...no diaper. The diaper machine costs $1. In change. Which I don't have. A nice lady offers us her size 2 diaper for my size 4 child. Ok, I say gladly. Emergency averted. As we wrap her up like a chubby sausage with legs oozing out the sides of this itty bitty Sesame Street (sooo juvenile) diaper, in strolls a child about Alice's age who has just vomited all over herself, her shirt, her pants, her diaper, her stroller, and frankly, the ghetto bathroom walls and floor.
A lesson in "things could be worse" was had by all.