A few months later, some friends convinced me to join them for dinner. “It’ll be good for you,” they said. I wanted to believe them.
I packed the diaper bag, loaded my son into the car seat, and forced myself out the door. For the most part, dinner went smoothly—until I smelled that smell and knew it was time for a diaper change. I headed to the men’s room, already tired and stressed, only to find… nothing.
I must have stood there for a full minute staring at the wall, trying to figure out what to do. On my way out, I spotted a woman leaving the ladies’ room. Desperation got the better of pride.
“Excuse me,” I said, “is there any chance the ladies’ room is empty? I just need to change my son.”
She looked at the baby, then at me—disheveled, exhausted, holding back something I didn’t want to show a stranger. She ducked inside, checked, and gave me the nod.
“Go ahead. Take your time.”Continue reading…
