Taken in Minneapolis, *before* the following incident...

Taken in Minneapolis, *before* the following incident…

We traveled last week and if you’ve ever traveled with a potty-training-toddler, you’ve probably experienced (or feared!) what happened to us.

After an uneventful flight, we were waiting for our luggage at DIA while Ben and Jack ran around exerting all of their pent up, over-tired energy when suddenly Ben stopped and his knees slackened while a look of panic crossed his face.

“Poop!” he cried.

Frantically, I picked him up and ran to the nearest bathroom only to discover we were too late. He had pooped alright. And as I pulled down his pull up, it escaped onto his shorts, his legs… And all of my frustration of traveling and being alone in this stall in those circumstances came pouring out…

“Oh my gosh! Oh no! You already did it! Oh, it’s on your shorts… And legs! And I don’t have any wipes… Stand still!”

I quickly called my husband on my cell phone to have him bring the extra clothes to the bathroom door. But the mess?!

“Do you need any help? Can I get you some paper towels? I’ve been exactly where you are.”

It was the voice of my airport angel, calling from the next stall. The Minnesota Nice in me almost rejected this woman’s offer (can you believe it?!), but swallowing my pride I said, “That would be awesome. THANK YOU.” Moments later, a handful of wet towels followed by a handful of dry were passed over the stall door.

After slopping up the mess (those brown paper towels don’t crinkle very well, you know what I mean?), I carried my bare-bottomed-boy out to my husband and received the greetings from another mama, “I’ve been there!”

We’ve all been there, haven’t we?