What if you woke up today and read the following expert from a blog based out of Brooklyn.
I saw a woman pull a baby out of the trunk of her car on Friday afternoon. It was horrifying.
You see, I was at the bodega on Meeker Avenue buying some lottery tickets. I rounded the corner and headed to the park. I noticed a woman rummaging through the trunk of her car. As I got closer, I saw her lift a baby out of the trunk!! We made eye contact. I gave her a look like, “You’re a sick person!” At first she was smiling and then she realized she was busted. Her happy expression turned into one that read, “Let me explain. I can explain.”
“That’s right you’ll explain, you sick bitch. But not to me. Save it for child services! THIS IS SO GOING ON MY BLOG!“
What kind of sick person puts a baby in the trunk of a car? You’d ask.
Let me explain. I can explain.
We live on the top floor of a three floor walk-up. Every day I take Emory out for a walk. We visit the park down the street, the one filled with shirtless Polish drunks, men and women so wrinkled and dehydrated, the whole of their body looks like the eye of an elbow.
I take him to the swings, an enclosed area protected by a sign that reads, “CHILDREN AND THEIR GUARDIANS ONLY.” Emory loves to people watch.
In order to avoid having to carry the stroller up three flights of stair each and every day, I store it on the first floor next to the front door. On Friday, however, I had to retrieve it from the trunk of our car where it had been left the day before.
I held Emory in one arm and opened the trunk with the other. As I bent down to get the stroller, I smelled urine. “Did you go pee pee?” I asked Emory.
I touched his diaper. It was puffy. “You went pee pee, didn’t you?”
I wouldn’t call myself a lazy person but I do try and avoid unnecessary exercise while toting a 20 pound baby. My thoughts were: why bother walking all the way back up three flights of stair if I don’t have to?
We’ve changed Emory in the car on many occasions. It’s not easy. The car is small. It’s even smaller now that the back seat is taken up by the car seat. Even when you do change Emory in the backseat, it’s impossible to lay him down flat.
I looked down at the flat, clean, carpeted trunk and had a brainstorm. I was so proud of the idea, I couldn’t wait to share it with TobyJoe. This idea was so grand, it begged the question, “Why hadn’t we thought of this before?”
I changed Emory in the trunk of the car as he laughed and giggled and looked up at the sky. Changing him lately has become quite the chore. If I don’t give him something interesting to look at, he screams the entire time. But this? This was one of the easiest changing sessions we’ve ever had together. The scenery and chorus of birds amused him greatly.
Just as I was applying the finishing touches to my baby’s bum, a woman rounded the corner. At first I didn’t think anything of it, I was, after all, just changing a baby diaper. But as I lifted Emory from the trunk of the car, I saw a look cast across her face, and let me tell you, words fail to describe that look.
I wanted to explain the situation to this woman, but she seemed entirely too freaked out. Plus, an explanation may come off as my making excuses as to why I’m driving around with my baby in the trunk of a car.
I chose to ignore it and go about my merry way. I put Emory in the stroller, draped the diaper bag across its handles and shut the trunk. She crossed the street gabbing away on her cell phone presumably telling some gasping third party about how she just witnessed some crazy woman lifting a baby out of the trunk of a car.
Motherhood is slowly shedding me of any decency or care I once had about what others think. This is something I am becoming unabashedly proud of.