In which the boy sh**s all over IHOP and I leave without telling a soul...

Ugh huh, cause I'm classy like that.

We went to breakfast this morning with some friends and had a lovely time. We go to restaurants all the time (more than we should probably) so the kids totally know how to behave. Aside from Rafael being a little more hyper than usual and leaving a huge pile of pancake crumbs on the floor (seriously, can those funny face pancakes be any more crumbly?), everything went well.

And then we were getting up to leave when Rafael loudly announced that he went pee pee and poo poo in his underwear. Great. (BTW, I thought nothing of the poo poo part.  He says both whether he's just gone pee or gone both).  He hadn't had an accident in several days so I thought I was safe in putting him in underwear this morning.  I guess not.

Anywho, he gets really upset when he has an accident, so I was pondering whether I should cut my losses, grab him and rush him out the the car before the screaming started, or stick around and wait for a waitress so that I could let her know what happened.  I had just noticed that his pee had soaked all the pancake under his chair leaving a huge mushy brown mess when the shrieking started so I just grabbed him and ran him out to the car as fast as I could.

I started stripping him down in the car when I realized that there was explosive diarrhea running down his leg.  Explosive diarrhea.  And then in a mind-numbingly disgusting flash of recognition, I realized that the mushy pancake on the restaurant floor was NOT pancake.  Ohmygodohmygodohmygod...OH EM GEE!!!!!!  We can never go back there.  Ever.  EVER.