As if I Needed Help Embarrassing Myself...I think I can safely say that I have more Most Embarrassing Moments than the average person. Partly because I waitressed for four years, with lots of potential for spilling wine on people or flipping trays over completely to shower my guests with salad (unfortunately already dressed.) There was also that time when I was doing marketing for our PT clinic, and had arranged lunch with a prestigious doctor in a swanky Newport Beach office. I had brought fajitas, and we were all sitting around eating and the owner of our clinic was chatting up the MD, when I somehow managed to flip my styrofoam plate into the air, flinging peppers and sauce all over the room, including all over the doctor himself! The worst part is that no one burst out laughing-- it was all very serious and quite the inconvenience. Or how about working in a hospital and casually referring to conjoined twins as "Siamese twins." Nice! I still blush and curse my 3rd world upbringing when I think of that one! Oh, there's more, so much more, but you'll have to ask me yourself.
Anyway, having a child pretty much triples the opportunities for public humiliation. Amelia had her two year old checkup with her pediatrician, Dr. Ed, last week. I really like this doctor, he is a naturopath and is very holistic in his approach. He is really into parenting techniques, and while I appreciate this and have valued his input, I feel rather self-conscious whenever I'm in his office, being observed so closely. Amelia also seems to reserve her clingiest, whiniest behavior for this very occasion, so that doesn't help. We're going through potty training right now, and Amelia is doing very well. She's really good about telling us when she needs to go, but she literally says she needs to go about 20 times a day. I suspect that it's out of boredom sometimes, but she can usually eke something out.
When we got to the office, I took her to the bathroom so that she would be ready for 30 minutes of continence when the time came. While we were with the doctor, she was asking to go potty again, but I asked her to wait a couple of times, since we were deep in conversation about her peculiarities. So she pooped her pants. We stepped out to address the matter, and I discovered that I didn't have any more diapers... Or wipes. I did my best, dumping the poop in the toilet and wiping her and her diaper with TP, thankful that it wasn't as bad as it could have been, texture-wise, and thinking that the visit would be over soon and I could search the car for another diaper. When we got back to the exam room, much to my dismay, Dr. Ed asked me to take off her clothes, INCLUDING her diaper, so she could be weighed! I casually asked if I could borrow some wipes, since it seemed that I had forgotten mine, and tried to take her diaper off as discreetly as possible, praying that he would go look at a chart or something and miss the poop streaks on her diaper. No such luck. But he didn't say anything, so I just died inside quietly. I'm sure there's plenty more of this to come, so I continue my practice of shrugging off these little mortifications.
