Poopy Night Out

This story comes at the expense of my husband, but it is not intended to make fun of him at all. The situation is funny. Poop humor is too good to pass up and now that I’m getting my energy back my creativity is also returning a bit. 

Brian, Boden, and I decide to go eat tacos at a local Mexican restaurant. There is a wait. Fortunately, this older gentleman offered me his seat next to his lovely wife. I wouldn’t ordinarily take the seat, but I was tired, hungry, and pregnant.
I am enjoying a nice conversation with the gentleman and his wife and Brian takes Boden outside to keep him occupied and to prevent him from annoying the other patrons. (He really isn’t that annoying. He was annoying me mostly.) Brian storms back into the waiting area and asks for Boden’s bag. I think nothing of it. He obviously is fully confident about handling whatever situation is occurring and I hand him the bag.
Finally, the “your table is ready thingee” vibrates and lights up and Brian is nowhere to be seen, so I follow the hostess to our table and try to call Brian on his cell phone. No answer. Okay, I’ll wait.
Brian comes in with Boden and flings the bag on the table and storms off. My pregnancy is making me pee, so maybe he really had to go. I thought he was being a bit rude not to help Boden into the high chair, but I let it go. I could feel something was amiss.
I order some drinks and Brian returns from the bathroom. I don’t want to recount all of it, but here are some excerpts which lasted for the first half of dinner and then went away after the first half of his margarita:
“There was shit everywhere.”
“There were only four wipes.”
“It was like clay. I tried to wipe it and it would only smear.”
“The truck now smells like shit.”
“It got on my hands and I don’t even know how.”
In Brian’s defense, he has changed many poopy diapers. However, you know you have skills when you wake up in the middle of the night, don’t put on your Coke-Bottle glasses (I am probably legally blind without contacts or glasses), don’t turn on any lights, and change a diaper in no time. Yes, I can brag about diaper changing skills… it doesn’t go on the resume though, but it should.
I feel for him, but have been thrown up on even in my mouth, pooped on, peed on, and God knows what. All I could say is that it only gives him that much more experience. Now he has learned that you rip the sides of the pull-up, they have changing tables in the bathroom (the bathroom would also be illuminated by lights), and he can always ask me for help.

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