I pushed my cart full of groceries out of Costco, the other day, just as the mechanic was parking my car. I had fed Ruby two hours earlier. Surely, I decided, we could make it home before her next snack. The timing could not have been more perfect.
So we went home. I plopped her in the ExerSaucer and went about unloading the groceries. For about one minute. That’s when she started crying.
I pleaded with her, “Hang on for just a minute! Most of the groceries can wait. I just have to unload a few critical items!”
My plan was more than reasonable, the perfect compromise. She didn’t care. The crying escalated… to THAT cry. You know which one I’m talking about. This hungry baby wasn’t about to wait patiently. So I raced in the last of the frozen goods and picked her up.
BEFORE I went to the bathroom. Don’t judge. And since I was (1) holding a baby, (2) in crisis mode and (3) home alone, I decided that it wasn’t important that I put my pants back on. Instead, I tossed them aside and got straight to feeding the baby.
She ate. She napped. And all was right with the world. About an hour later we rose from the couch.
And that is how I ended up standing in front of the Mormon missionaries in my underwear, with only one pane of a glass front door between us.