Anyway, I was reading another blog today where a mother (just had her first about 4 months ago) was talking about how she has yet to have her first horrifying moment with her son. I thought, "hmmm...nothing really horrifies me anymore."
Then I thought about the moment when I knew I was an "old hat" in many ways.
With my first, anytime he pooped in public, I felt like it was an emergent situation. I had to fix it IMMEDIATELY.
With my second, just a few weeks ago, I knew he was dirty, but we were buying a new car, his diaper bag was in my husband's care parked about a quarter mile away, and I thought "we can wait a minute." Well, it was more than a minute. And it got BAD. So I finally had to excuse myself to go change him. I left Ben to deal with the salesman (this may or may not have been a self preservation move. I hate car salesmen). And off we went.
We were not 20 steps out the door when I felt it. Warm, gooshy, and STINKY. All over my left arm. An explosion had officially happened. I looked at my arm and, sure enough, there was a PILE about an inch and a half deep and 4 inches long on my forearm. And it was not solid.
What does a veteran mom do? Hold the baby with the other hand and flick the offending pile off the arm, then move on. I didn't even miss a step. That was when I knew. I was that mom in the commercial, comfortable enough in my abilities to handle even the grossest situation in public without batting an eye.