For the first few days after we had Jack, I felt sort of like a long-term babysitter. In the back of my mind, I wasn't really a parent. Someone was going to show up any minute to take him home.
But last Wednesday, mommyhood couldn't have been more real.
We were on the way back from taking my parents—who stayed with us for a while and helped us so much—to the airport. We stopped at a store so my husband could get himself some shirts and I could feed the baby in the car. I spread out in the backseat and started changing Jack's diaper. I was just about done when a fountain—and I am not exaggerating—of baby, er, waste spurted all over, paying little heed to the cute little changing pad and landing on the seat and on my shirt and jeans. Another quickly followed.
Being the inexperienced mom that I am, I gasped in horror and called my husband to come out of the store and help.
Baby Jack, of course, took it all in stride. He just looked at me innocently, as if to say, "Hey, it's not my fault you took my diaper off."