“Get the quiet bag,” I instructed Mr. Handsome as we ran past each other in the hall, racing the clock to get to church on time. “And the diaper bag.”
Mr. Handsome was heading into the bathroom, but he stopped and stuck his head back out the door. “We don’t need the diaper bag.”
Now it was my turn to put on the brakes. I turned around and stared at him, pondering his words, trying to let them soak in. No diaper bag? Could it be true? Well yes, The Baby Nickel was potty-trained, and ninety-five percent of the time he even woke up dry. For the past couple months his diaper had always been dry after we got home from church. And then a huge smile spread across my face and I let out a yee-haw.
“You are right!” I chortled. “We are done! We are done!” For the first time in nearly nine years we would be diaper-bag free. I couldn’t stop grinning.
We high-fived each other, and then turned on our tails and resumed our race to get to church on time.
Minus a diaper bag.
No diaper bag is like. . .well, like. . .early retirement.
You Can Call Me Jane
Congratulations! I look forward to the day….
A big day indeed. It’s funny how the realization that the diaper days are over tiptoes up on you.