Have you ever had one of those days where you actually believe there's a chance you could be eaten by a shark and struck by lightening because everything else has already gone wrong? That happened to me recently. After my car died and I was stranded without a charged cell phone waiting for a tow, I found a wet postal slip stuck to the garage floor saying that the holiday outfits I ordered for my kids needed to be picked up before closing. Since we were scheduled to have their picture taken the following day and time was ticking, I popped my baby in the car and flew over to get the goods. After circling a congested street several times and finally finding parking, I got my son out only to realize that he had a diaper explosion and liquid excrement had seeped up to his neck. The poop also now covered most of my coat.
My first instinct was to cry because it had been a ridiculously hellish week and in the hurry to leave I hadn't grabbed my diaper bag, but then my motherly instinct kicked in — I needed to get the package. I walked into the post office and asked for my parcel. I have never seen a clerk move so quickly. After a bath, a shower, a load of laundry, and a trip to the dry cleaners, the situation was resolved. And, my kids were dressed and ready for their holiday portrait the next day.
