Domestic Goddess, Esquire

The Real Scoop on Office Poop

15 Nov 2011 1 Comment

by Domestic Goddess, Esq. in Moms in Solo Practice Tags: baby poop, mother lawyers, work life balance, working moms

I’m sitting in the office space I share with two colleagues, getting ready to meet with a prospective client.  And not just any prospective client – a potentially lucrative business client.  After finally taking the leap into solo practice, I’m both excited and nervous.

I’m excited about the prospective client, and nervous about my four month old baby that I’m nursing so she won’t be hungry during the meeting.  Will the client have a case I actually want to take?  If I do want to take it, will I be able to close the deal?  How will he react to the pack-’n’-play in the corner of the office – and how will he react when he discovers there’s actually a baby in it?

When the baby finishes nursing, I button up my suit jacket, and gently burp her.  A burp, but no spit-up!  Yes!  I lay the baby down on her blanket between my desk and the pack ‘n’ play, and go check my hair and make-up in the mirror.  Not bad.  I review my notes from our phone conversation, and straighten up my desk.

I look at the scrolling sign outside my office window and check the time.  Five more minutes.  How did I manage to get everything settled and ready to go with five minutes to spare?  I am a rockstar.  

As if cued by my cocky self-praise, a noise slowly rises up from the floor.  Quiet at first, then louder.  That indescribable noise that every mother recognizes in an instant.  As if to confirm its existence, a sickly sweet scent begins to rise.  Baby poop.  The mustardy yellow, watery kind that is the calling-card of exclusively breast-fed babies.

Dear Jesus, please let the client be late!  

I rush to the front door, and deadbolt it.  I run back to my office, making a wild grab for the diaper bag.  I kneel on the floor, straddling the baby, high-heels sticking out precariously behind me.  Out comes the changing pad, out come the wipes.  Off comes the diaper – ewww, it’s a stink-bomb!  Wipe the baby, get the new diaper on, snap up the sleeper.  Find a plastic bag, stuff the offending odoriferous materials into it as quickly as possible.  Throw the bag into the adjoining bathroom trash.  Wash hands – quickly, but not too quickly.  Thank the Lord!  There’s Lysol spray in the bathroom!  Shut the door tightly.  Run back to my office, check on the baby, see if my window will open – Damn!  It’s stuck!  The church across the street begins to ring the hour – and there’s a knock at the dead-bolted door.

I take a deep breath, smooth my suit, walk to the front door.  Smile!  Firm handshake!  Hi – You must be Mr. Client – I’m Amy.  Thanks for coming in this afternoon.  Right this way . . .