Normally, I try not to share diaper incidents on this blog.
Okay, maybe just one.
Yesterday, I flew with Belle from St. Louis to Atlanta on AirTran. We're going to attend my sister's baby shower and my mom's birthday party this weekend. Since James is coming on Friday after work, I decided to go ahead and bring both of our bags, so that he wouldn't have to take luggage to work. This made it cost-effective for me to upgrade to business class, so I sat in row 3, right beside a kind middle-aged gentleman, with Belle in my lap.
This kid has been on some airplanes in her 19 months of life, by the way. 29 of them, in fact. She's a pretty frequent flyer.
Okay, back to the story.
So there I am, sitting with Belle, happily reading Goodnight Gorilla, when the pilot comes on the intercom to say, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent into the Atlanta airport. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fascined, and we will be on the ground momentarily..."
That's when I smelled it.
And it was BAD.
About a thousand thoughts rushed through my head all at once...
"What did she eat for lunch??"
"So THAT's why she wanted to squat down on the floor!"
"I hope it didn't get on her clothes."
"I wonder if these people think that's ME."
But the thought that crowded out all the others was this...I'm in BUSINESS class. These people did not sign up for the full Ella experience. They paid good money for these seats, and they shouldn't have to smell this for the next 15 minutes. I've got to fix it.
So I risked my life, stood up, laid her on the seat, and changed her then and there.
Yes, I took one for the upper middle-class team, of which I am not even close to being a member.
I broke a federal law for a dirty diaper.