Of McDonald's and diapers

A baby seemed like the perfect excuse to begin my freelance career. My wife, Kate, would go back to work, and I would stay home with our new baby boy, Liam, while writing.

All in all, the plan has worked out fairly well--he’s a pretty easy baby, I enjoy having more time to write and I’ve only been referred to as Mr. Mom a few times. The new situation also gives us more flexibility to travel, so when Kate’s boss, who’s out of town often, was nearby in Cincinnati for a day, we packed up the family and headed down I-71. Kate and her boss would be able to get some work done face to face, and Liam and I would bide our time at an undetermined location.

I dropped Kate off around noon and decided to grab some food with the little guy. We had passed a McDonald’s after exiting the highway, and since I have a self-imposed rule that I’m allowed to eat Mcfood only when traveling, it seemed like a good place to go. The place was large enough to have a booth for Liam and me to camp out, and hopefully it would have a newspaper I could read while Liam slept soundly. But mostly I wanted some French fries.

So I detached Liam’s ponderous baby carrier from his car seat and slung the green bag filled with baby necessities over my shoulder--yes, it holds diapers, but it is not a diaper bag. I ordered my No. 1 with no sauce on the Big Mac and spotted a somewhat secluded booth toward the back of the restaurant, then headed over, balancing the tray, carrier and baby gear.

There are lots of freedoms I took for granted before the baby came along. For instance, previously, I could set my tray down in a restaurant and then return to the counter to fill a cup with my carbonated beverage of choice. Post-baby, this is not so easy. I was far away from the soda dispenser, and I couldn’t very well leave Liam in his carrier on the table, which was right next to an exit. Well, I guess I could, but I have become a paranoid new father, and I imagined all sorts of scenarios in which a baby snatcher could come in and whisk Liam away as I filled my drink. So I lugged Liam and the carrier across the restaurant and back again. As I sat down, I realized I forgot to buy a newspaper. So I repeated the process again and purchased the Cincinnati Enquirer.

After finally sitting down to eat my meal and read, I heard a few grunts coming from the carrier. I assumed Liam was either getting hungry or working on a little project underneath his onesie. After finishing my deliciously salty fries, I decided to give him his bottle, which was chilling next to a frozen pack in the bag. I got some funny looks as I fed him, but I’m getting used to that, since it’s still fairly rare to see a father feeding a newborn in public, and also since I still look about 17. As I glanced down at Liam’s pudgy little thighs, I saw a sight that strikes fear in the heart of any parent: leakage. Somehow I hadn’t noticed that green stuff was escaping from underneath his diaper, onto his leg and all over his onesie. I looked at the carrier, and sure enough, it was all over the seat belts, even working its way down into the inner workings of the contraption. And my black T-shirt? It now had a decidedly greenish hue.

I contemplated how to fix this situation, and decided I had to leave. The McDonald’s bathroom was dirty and not lockable, and this was a private matter (literally). So I covered Liam’s bottom half with a burp rag, put him back in the tainted carrier and headed for the backseat of our Toyota Corolla, which by this point on an August afternoon was approximately 107 degrees. It’s normally a comfortable size back there, but with a car seat, bags, me and Liam, it’s utterly cramped. I contorted my body and laid a blanket down to clean and change him--none of this made Liam too happy since he never got to finish that bottle. Dripping sweat, I then used half a box of baby wipes to clean the carrier and my T-shirt. I looked at Liam, who had cheered up and was grinning from ear to ear, seemingly amused at my misfortune. Eventually, I was able to give him the remaining contents of the bottle. All said, this backseat process took more than an hour.

The situation was trying my patience to say the least, but to top it off, I had my own bathroom needs to attend to. After drinking a large Coke, it was Daddy’s turn. I just couldn’t bring myself to pack everything up and go back in the same McDonald’s, so we hit the road looking for a place that would have the largest, tidiest bathroom. After a couple of miles, I spotted a Kroger, which seemed like a good option.

Lugging the carrier across the grocery store with giant wet spots on my shirt, I headed to a door with a blue restroom sign and entered. There on the wall was a public convenience I wish I had thought about hours earlier: “Baby Changing Station.”