***Pictures Withheld***

I was making my way into the gym this morning, August in my arms, bags over my shoulder, sun in my eyes. Gus was being terribly cute pulling at my t-shirt collar and laying his head against my shoulder, sighing. I checked in at the front desk and adjusted my bags so that I could flip Gus over and give him one last nibble on his sides (it makes him giggle like crazy) before I gave him to daycare. About a nose length away from chomping down I stopped. The diaper, the one thing I rely on to work in every instance, had exploded. It was bad. Like two angry monkeys having a throw-down over the last banana kind of bad. Then of course I realized that since it was all over his clothes, up his back, and almost to his neck, that my arm must also be covered. And indeed it was. We made a complete circle from the front door, around the desk and right back out again. And the whole time, not a whimper, not a whine, not a cry. Just a tug on my collar and a sigh.