You'd think I would have learned by now.

When my son was about 5 months old, I had to drive from downtown Athens, Greece, to Nea Penteli, a remote suburb.  This is a little like driving from Los Angeles to Rancho Cucamonga, except the roads and signage aren't as good.  And they are in Greek.  I had the kid in the Baby Bjorn while we waited for whatever errand it was to get done.  Then there was the dreaded plumbing noise from his torso, and FWOOM!!!  An unauthorized discharge from the lower port.  Otherwise known as a diaper blowout.

I had supplies, but only the minimum:  extra diaper, ziploc baggies, small package of wipes, small bottle of water.  I did not have a change of jeans for me, or anything to clean my clothes, his clothes, or the Baby Bjorn.  For that matter, I was at a marble quarry; I didn't even have a place to change.

I did the best I could with the entire package of wipes, all the water, and a towel I found in the trunk, but it was still nasty.  I tied my jacket around my waist to disguise the worst of it, finished my errand, strapped the poor kid into the rear-facing car seat, and headed home.

And got lost.

Keep in mind that it took me 45 minutes to drive from my house to my office in Athens, a distance of 3 miles.  So when I say "I got lost" please know that I was wondering if I would find my way to central Athens by nightfall, or before I ran out of gas.  2 hours in, I had to stop and get water to mix formula for the miserable child…still with my now crusty jeans.  And of course I asked for directions, but my Greek wasn't very good, and nobody else knows how to get around Athens either.

It only took us 4 hours to get home.  The smell came out of the car eventually.  My psychological scars healed, but I'm not sure my son's did - he's the only kid I know that does not relax when riding in a car.

For a year or so after, I travelled with more stuff than I normally pack for a trans-Atlantic flight.  But a year of living in the States lulled me into a sense of complacency.

Then last week I picked my son up from daycare.  Potty training has finally gotten some traction with him, and he was in big-boy underwear and doing well.  We were about 5 minutes away from the daycare, when from the backseat I heard "Mommy, I have to---" and then that scary plumbing sound and a sound like Vesuvius erupting.

I pulled over and took stock.  By some miracle of habit, I had a diaper (in my work briefcase) and an almost-full pack of wiper (under the car seat).  I had a plastic shopping bag I'd been using for trash:  his underwear AND his jeans went into that, along with all the wipes after I'd used them on the carseat.  The only good thing is that while I was in my nicest suit, nothing got on me.  Of course, we were also in the only place in the continental US that's not near a Starbucks, so I got to do all this out in the open on a residential street.

It took about 1.5 hours to get home, since that Potty Training Related Incident (PTRI) also made us miss the traffic window.

Now, once again, even tho the kid is 3, I don't travel anywhere, even to the grocery store, without spare diapers, TONS of wipes, bottled water, a towel, and a change of clothes for both of us.