i should have called him oliver
Just as we arrived at the gym this morning, something seemed not right. A quick whiff of my son's lower half quickly revealed that he was in need of changing. I whisked him off to the changing room and discovered that his nappy had leaked - and I mean leaked. He had poo on places I didn't think came anywhere near his bottom. I stripped him down to his bodysuit, cursing the fact that I forgot to replenish the supplies and clothes in his baby bag after the weekend. He had no other clothes to wear, and this was the only clean nappy he had. I carted him down to the nursery where I apologetically explained why we were late and why Jack was rather scantily clad. Praying that he wouldn't fill another nappy as he had none going spare, I left him in the amused hands of the nursery ladies.
I returned after my workout and saw two babies in the nursery. One looked like Jack from behind, but the baby was wearing socks and a strange outfit. "Where's mine, then?" I asked one of the ladies, not recognising my own son. "Oh, we had to put him in some other clothes that we had here," she explained. "His bodysuit had some poo on it, so we found this outfit for him, and then he felt cold so we put these socks on him." Another lady joined in, "We used to have some lovely baby jeans here, but they've gone missing. This was all we had." So there my son was, dressed in a pilly faded t-shirt and a bodysuit that was slightly too small. Cringing, I muttered "Oh dear. I really should check Jack's baby bag before I leave the house. Okay my little street urchin, let's go! Heh." and made a hasty retreat.
I bet stuff like this never happens to Kate Winslet or Stella McCartney.
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