Sorry about my kid.

Sorry about My Kid

The day my toddler pooped on the floor in the furniture store, I wanted to die. Of course I had no baby wipes in my purse, so I raced to the restrooms to grab paper towels before some unsuspecting patron stepped in it. But by the time I got back, my wild-eyed husband locked gazes with me and frantically whispered, “Abort mission!” as he herded the kids toward the door.

I glanced back to the scene of the accident only to see that a salesperson had beaten me to it. She was already cleaning it up. Mortifying. Might as well have just pooped my own pants.

At that  point, husband, kids, and exit were much closer and much more tempting to me than the too-little-too-late, “Oh, sorry; that’s my kid’s—let me get that…” option, so I ducked out.

That bone-deep kind of embarrassment gets awakened at least once in the life of every parent. We are so interconnected with our children that their triumphs feel extra sweet, and their failures cut to the core. It’s no doubt what prompted my friend Rachel to post this on Facebook:

Does anyone know a good place to get note cards in bulk that say, “I’m so sorry that my child kicked/bit/punched/spit on you. I swear we are good parents.”

That one got some likes. We’ve all been there in some way, right?

When I read that post, it all came into focus. Not only did I feel super validated, I realized that I’ve known all along how to fix the poop fiasco. Granted, it’s too late to get out the Clorox spray and start scrubbing. But it’s never too late to make a phone call. Pay a visit. Send a card.

(And yes, Rach, I do know a good place.)

 

- Sara