I have a very good friend named JD. We met in high school and have been friends since.
Every year, or for at least as long as I can remember, his parents host a St. Patrick's Day party. I'm told an authentic bag piper is present. Legend has it there is an insane amount of alcohol. Word on the streets of our home town is that the food is nothing short of amazing.
I say all of this from the perspective from someone who has never actually attended the party. I'm going by the tales JD regales me with after the party. For you see, in the 10 -or so- years we have been friends, I have NEVER actually gone to this party.
I can't really remember why I have not gone in the past. Maybe when we were in college the date of the party did not jive with my recovery from my most recent Jager hangover.
Most recently, I know one year I was pregnant. The following year I had a baby.
This year was going to be it. Josh and I had my parents lined up for an overnight babysitting session with Pman.
We had arrangements to stay at another friends’ house. We. Were. In.
However, for reasons too boring to go in to, (in a nutshell, we needed to get the old house in order for the renters) Josh and I did not go to the party.
After we finished what we had to do on Saturday, Josh and I (and SweetP) went out to dinner, pushing back our bath and bed routine by about an hour. I was trying to rush rush rush through the bath (because we skipped it the night before).
There is no way to ease into this- so instead, I will set the scene.
P, wearing only a diaper, is holding onto the side of the tub doing his normal excited squeal and "can't wait to get in the tub" dance. -seriously, this is every night. I unfasten the diaper and begin rolling it up...when...
My son pooped on the floor.
HE POOPED ON THE FLOOR!
Josh said that's what I get for interrupting him while he was doing his business.
When I told JD I was not going to be able to make it to the party, he told me I had to blog about why I chose to hang out in an old empty townhouse over bag pipes and beer. If only I had stuck to my guns and gone to the party, someone else would have had to clean up my son's poop from the bathroom floor.