Motherhood FAIL of the Week: Poopy & Me

Last week the Muffin Man and I attended our first session of the VIP Mommy and Me class. I put a lot of time and effort into getting the two of us ready; I managed to take a shower and throw on some makeup and I picked out an adorable, hip little outfit for Noah. I was feeling rather proud of myself when I loaded the two of us into the car and set out for the Valley. Five minutes into our car ride I heard the unmistakable sound of Noah having a poop explosion.  I probably should've pulled over and changed his diaper right then, but we were running a few minutes late and I figured since the damage was already done I might as well continue on my way and deal with the fallout after we arrived at class.  Sure enough, when I picked Noah up out of his carseat I discovered that he had pooped through his diaper and his shorts.  After introducing myself to the teacher, I quickly rushed into the bathroom to change Noah's diaper and hopefully make him presentable for class.  The bathroom has one of those pull-down plastic changing tables, which does make things easier.  Unfortunately, I discovered that I had left my nice, soft changing pad at home in the laundry bin.  Usually I at least have a disposable plastic changing pad in my bag, but not, of course, last week.  I did, miraculously, have a fresh diaper and a clean pair of shorts to change Noah into, but I was forced to put him down on the hard plastic changing table with just a scratchy paper towel underneath him.  In the process of putting him down on the table, I banged his head and he started screaming hysterically.  There I am, trapped in a tiny bathroom with a wailing baby covered in poop while all the other Mommies right outside the door can hear my son going insane.  I changed Noah's diaper as fast as is humanly possible when you're dealing with a writhing, screaming chid, swapped his shorts (which, of course did not match his t-shirt at all) and took my wailing son into the classroom to meet his new baby buddies.  At this point I was a sweaty, anxiety-ridden mess, my red-faced and howling son was sporting a clashing outfit, and I discovered I had, somehow, gotten poop on my own shirt.  Noah did manage to calm down enough to enjoy class, and only two of the Mommies snubbed me because of my poop-stained shirt, so I suppose it wasn't a total bust.  Just remind me the next time Noah poops before class to surreptitiously drop his dirty diaper into one of those bitches' diaper bags.