.........that you should always listen to the little voice inside your head.

You should have known better, my own little voice scolded as I looked down at the stoic face of my 20 month old. Why, oh why, would you ever wear white?

And of course, it was right. I did know better.

Don't you hate it that the little voice inside your head, the one that warns you not to do something, is not only always right, it is always so easy to ignore? My little voice had made several suggestions over the course of my busy morning. And like an idiot, I had ignored each and every one.

You don't need to run to the store for 4 items. Just send your husband on his way home from work, it told me. But I decided to go myself, anyway.

You should check your daughters diaper before you go, it warned. But I had just changed her and there were no smells emanating from her general direction. And when I asked her if she was poopy, she shook her head.

You shouldn't leave your purse in the car, it advised. But the giant, fully stocked, leather monstrosity seemed a tad bit over kill for a quick 4 item grocery run.

And of course, You shouldn't have worn your nice, new, white shirt, it needlessly and for the second time that day, pointed out. (This time, it was just being cruel, I think.)

So there I stood, in the frigid parking lot of the grocery store. I had already gone and in and come back out yet I hadn't purchased one single item. My daughter lay across the back seat of the car, immobilized by the winter coat, hat and mittens she wore and somewhat alarmed by the look of complete horror evident on my face.

And I had no idea what to do. Because there are just no quick fixes when you're dealing with vast quantities of poop. And my oh so helpful little voice was suddenly the soul of discretionary silence.

As I had discovered too late, (meaning somewhere in the middle of the grocery store) my daughter did indeed have a poopy diaper. And now thanks to the laws of time and space and just plain inevitability that poop had found it's way out of her diaper and was pretty much everywhere. Her adorable striped tights were saturated. Her purple woolen dress, covered. Her car seat cushion, marred. And her pink coat, tinged.

But the fun didn't stop there. Oh, no. This all started because I had chosen to leave the house that day dressed in a white shirt. So of course, it only stands to reason that the white shirt (not to mention my light green goose down vest) should be among the casualties.

Had I brought my purse, equipped as it is with both Kleenex and wet-wipes, into the store with me I could have perhaps stemmed the disgusting tide now so liberally spread about. But no. I had left that in the car. So when E started pitching a fit at the prospect of being set down in the grocery cart child seat (something she never does) and I slapped the back of her thigh in order to get her attention and consequently found my hand damp, I not only knew we had a big problem I had to walk back out of the store with that same big problem still on my hand. (I fleetingly thought of going into the store bathroom, but by this time E was wailing away and belatedly repeating the word "poopy" over and over and I had no idea where I would set her and her seepage while I washed my hands. And really, what would the point have been. I'd only have to handle her all over again.)

Once we got to the car, I laid her down on a scrap of junk mail and cleaned off my hand. Then I waited for inspiration. The prospect of driving home with a poop covered child in the back seat and a poop covered shirt on my person just did not appeal to me. But really, it was the only option. I may have had an extra diaper or two in that well stocked purse. But not an extra outfit. For both of us.

So I put her back in her car seat, tried to mentally block out the image of my stained shirt, opened several windows and drove back home. On the way I noticed a few construction workers checking me out. Or more, probably admiring the way my blond hair was blowing out the car window I so brashly had open on a cold November day. And I thought to myself, if only they knew.

I may have started the day futilely trying to look nice but the only attention I ended up attracting came in response, to my response, to the noxious odor filling my car. Ironic, huh?

So lesson, hopefully learned. Listen to my little voice. And forget the no white after labor day rule......it's no white after becoming a mom.