The French Bakery

Andi spent last week in the desert producing a photo shoot and after five days of solo parenting, I was ready to get out of the house on Saturday. We decided to check out a French bakery near our house in the 'burbs. We search high and low for hidden gems such as this, tucked between chain restaurants and strip malls, and have been dying to check this place out. Ever since our trip to Paris last December, I'm a sucker for French pastries.

Tory screamed in her car seat on the drive over there, of course, but miraculously fell asleep once we got inside the bakery. Andi ordered us a two cappuccinos, quiche, a croissant, lemon meringue and tiramisu to split and we made ourselves at home in comfy chairs along the window. It was heavenly! We sipped our coffee and ate yummy pastries (the quiche was just ok) and had a real adult conversation.

Tory woke up a few minutes later, in a super happy mood, so we continued our nice family brunch. Look at us ... taking the baby out in a public place without making a spectacle!

A while later I noticed a spot on my jeans. Is that poop? I gave it a quick sniff. "Smells like dijon mustard," I said. "No, I think it's tiramisu," said Andi.

A few more minutes pass and I noticed something seeping out of Tory's purple pants. "Ew, she pooped," I calmly said to Andi. I wish I would've had a photo to capture Andi's face as soon as those words left my lips. He lifted her up to find yellow-colored poop oozing out her diaper. "Oh, gross," he said, gagging. He quickly handed the baby to me and I started to change her.

"It's just poop," I said. "Yeah, but it was on me too and I thought it was tiramisu so I ate it!" he said.

I've never seen Andi so freaked out. He politely asked if he could help me change her and then excused himself to the bathroom where I'm sure he washed his mouth out with soap. I couldn't stop laughing.