The night my first child was born, there was no room at the Inn. Ok that's a metaphor. There was no room in the "mother - baby" unit where it's all sunshine and roses and warm fuzzy things that new mommy's need.
Instead, I had to spend the night in the "labor and delivery" room where he'd been born. Labor and delivery nurses are a different cut. They keep you alive, they keep your baby alive, and they're pretty ALL BUSINESS. Which you know, is their job.
But once that baby is out and washed and you're cleaned up they're usually on to the next person. Except they had me all night.
A seriously clear memory of that night was conjured for me yesterday.
I remembered the first time I changed a diaper on my son. He'd pooped his brains out, the famed black tar velcro poop. I tried to change the diaper but, once I got the dirty one off, I realized I didn't have wipes. I didn't know where the wipes WERE. I had to ring for help mid-diaper change.
The nurse whipped in, showed me they were in the bottom of the bassinette, and whipped out.
They weren't open.
I had a baby who was screaming and a half off poopie diaper and poop squishing out as I tried with one hand to open the bag. I ended up ripping it open with my teeth and making it work.
So last night, as I rushed up the stairs with a little girl who had a bulging BROWN diaper I laid her down on the changing pad only to realize I hadn't filled the wipes - and they weren't open.
As poop was squooshing out of her diaper my only thought was "Really? 4 years later? I can't remember to get the wipes open FIRST?"
No. Apparently not.