It's official - I'm white trash.

I've sort of prided myself on living in small-town "Race City USA" (a place with more mullets than should be legal) without becoming part of the sub-culture in this area. Please don't misunderstand me, I LOVE Southerners - you'll not meet a kinder, friendlier people, and I love living in the South. It's totally my speed. I'm just not a gun-owning, mullet wearing, Wal-Mart shopping kind of gal ya know? I never seem to have good experiences at Wal-Mart (some of you may recall when Phil slipped on the ice while carrying Marissa on the sidewalk in front of the store.)

I recently had an experience where I thought to myself, "To any outsider I definitely look like I'm part of the "white trash" stereotype.

My mom and I had motivated ourselves early last Friday morning to hit a class at the gym. It was a fun workout and we both had a good time. Instead of heading home to shower (which is what we should have done!) we decided to run a few errands. Cyndi was going to buy me a laminater and the one she wanted is sold at Wal-Mart, so off we went. Here I am - tank top, workout pants, sneakers, no makeup, hair in a pony tail - thinking that we'd be in and out. We shopped for a few things and were nearly finished when I notice Dylan needed a diaper change. I tell Cyndi that I need to change him and we head to the front of the store to the restrooms. We pause in the greeting card aisle to pick up a few cards. Admittedly at this point I'd forgotten that Dylan needed to be changed (you know how easy it is to get distracted in stores like Target and Wally World!).

Well my forgetfulness didn't last long as I glance down and see Dylan's diaper has leaked out of his pants and onto the cart. I grabbed the diaper bag and carried Dylan fireman-style to the restroom. I grab a plastic bag from an aisle as I pass and I'm so glad that I did...I definitely needed it. I lay him down on the change table and find that not only has he messed through his pants but also his shirt as it has worked it's way up his back. I strip him totally naked and use every wipe in my possession cleaning up the dirty diaper. I get him all cleaned up and realize that I have no extra outfit for him. All I have is his shoes...and a diaper...and I'm at Wal-Mart...feeling like total white trash.

So whatever, sometimes these things happen right? I head out with my half-naked baby to find my mom. She's still in the greeting cards and I pull some burp cloths out to clean off the cart and put something down for Dylan to sit on. I said, "Mom we need to go now." She says ok and glances at my chest (for those who know Cyndi, she's short enough that my chest is right about eye level for her.) She points out a smear of some kind on my shirt. I look down and it was...well let's just say I didn't get it ALL cleaned up.

Anyway, here are some lovely photos from that experience. Sorry if this story grossed you out. It just goes to show me that bad things happen when I shop at Wal-Mart.

Poor baby fell asleep on the ride home.

My sweet baby boy!

Lovely isn't it?