Spillage

I shouldn't be surprised that it happened, given that 1) I was in a rush, 2) I was wearing dry-clean only Ralph Lauren light grey flannel trousers, 3) I had left all bibs and burp cloths in the kitchen and didn't pack any in Tucker's bag, and 4) I had an early meeting with a VIP. But nevertheless, one is still caught off guard by the projectile force with which pasty white Similac on its way back up catches the leg of a perfectly crafted wide-leg trouser pant.

With baby on hip, Marc Jacobs dangling from elbow, traveling coffee mug in left hand and key clenched between forefinger and mug, I lost another precious few seconds deciding how to react first. Baby can't be placed down on cement parking garage floor or roof of the car, so appendages had to go while baby was safely nestled into car seat. Luckily, I compulsively clean my car on weekends, so the backseat floor mat had to serve as both burp cloth and dry-clean device in a pinch. (Tucker of course found it all amusing, which helped buy my a few more minutes I really couldn't afford to begin with). Fellow parkers didn't miss the opportunity to stare (not offering a hand of course, we are not that far from the mean streets of Manhattan after all). The entire fiasco added 6 minutes to my clock, wear and tear to my pants, and perspiration to my face.

I won't say I learned my lesson when it comes to the pants- I own far too much cashmere, silk, wool and other washer-adverse material to forgo all such ensembles. But I won't be leaving the house without several burp cloths in the near future.