Just A Quiet Saturday Evening
We squeaked into Saturday evening Mass about 3 minutes late. At most other parishes, the priest might just be starting, but not at my parish. Our awesome priest is retired military and Mass starts right on time. Every time. Without fail.
Sliding into the pew with my 8-year-old and 1-year-old, I join right into singing the Gloria and pretend I’ve been here the whole time. Baby girl is babbling along with the singing and I’m hopeful that today will be different. We will make it through Mass without making a grand spectacle of ourselves! [insert fist pump here]
Oh, but I was mistaken. My hope faded quickly as we ventured into the scripture readings. She climbed up into my lap, turned around to face the front, and stood up.
It hit me like a brick wall just a mere inch from my face.
She pooped.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. I negotiated with myself in my head, thinking maybe I could pass it off as baby gas and stick it out.
As Mass progressed into the Liturgy of the Eucharist, it started to linger in the air. I thought, ‘Lord, please congest the noses of my fellow parishioners!’
Now, it was rank. I mean, eye-watering, nose-hair-curling rank. I tried to breathe through my mouth hoping not to smell it, to no avail. This was Grade-A awful, folks.
To make it worse, a quick glance into my purse revealed a serious lack of diapers. As in, there were none. The one time I hoped she could make it through one hour of her life without pooping, she chose this exact moment to break my spirit. Thanks, baby girl.
To Leave Mass or Not To Leave Mass?
At this point, it’s now or never. If I leave, I risk side-eye from our priest for leaving during the most important part of the Mass.
Nope, not leaving. We’re in it to win it now. The damage has been done and I’m going to hold my head high with the foulest smelling baby there. She is pretty cute, after all, so at least there’s that.
Sharing the Love
As we head down the aisle to communion, I try to keep her from squirming in my arms as to hopefully conceal the present she was carrying in her tushy.
I put her down so she could stand while I received communion and I could almost swear I saw the slightest twitch in Father’s eye as we walked on past. I bowed my head prayerfully and….oh shoot, she is starting to climb up to the altar! I snag her up into my arms as she was fractions of an inch from grabbing the collection basket.
Been There, Done That
This was almost as bad as the time my 8-year-0ld kicked the priest at communion when he was a toddler, resulting in a rather loud “OUCH!” from the nearly-retired Benedictine monk who was celebrating Mass that Sunday. Or the time he was two and nearly executed a rather embarrassing Janet-Jackson-esque wardrobe malfunction in the front row at Christmas Eve Mass.
My record is strong, y’all.
We survived the remaining ten minutes of Mass and as soon as I put her down, she bolts to the narthex in the direction of the Altar Society bake sale tables.
And promptly spits up all down her shirt and on the floor. Twice.
I’m done, folks. I just laugh. And laugh, much to the horror of the elderly ladies whose feet she almost barfed on.
I wipe it off the floor with her blankie and hand my son a $20 and tell him to spend it all.
So now I sit here, munching on some wicked delicious banana nut bread and sipping a glass of wine after I turned her over to my hubby to put her to bed.
Who says church is boring? Ha!
Have you ever dealt with an epic embarrassing moment in church with your little ones?
