been in powder form or concentrate. Had it been milk based? Soy? I'd have to dig the can out of the trash.
My husband was staring at me with bewilderment - if you can believe that - as I picked up Hayden and trudged into the living room to change him...Rory was standing in the living room, the big diaper bag in his hands. I stopped short.
"Just seeing how many more diapers the little fella has," he explained. He put the bag down on the low coffee table with some reluctance, and backed away. "How many are there?"
"What?"
"How many diapers are left in the bag?" It sounded like one of those bizarre math problems you get in the lower school grades. If it takes Suzy ten diapers a day to keep little Marge clean, and Suzy lends Tawan three diapers and uses two, how many more diapers will she need that day?
"Six, at least, I think," Rory said.
"Thanks." When he didn't move, I said, "Do you want to change Hayden?" I held out the baby to him.
"Oh, no!" he all but yelped, backing out of the room with great speed. "No, that's okay."
I now had all the products arranged in a line on the table, and a section of newspaper spread out to put the baby on. I managed this change with relative efficiency. All the while, watching Hayden wave around his arms and legs, hearing him fuss when his bottom was exposed to the cool air, clapping a paper towel over him quickly when he began an unexpected pee, I was wondering what Rory had been doing. When Hayden was reassembled, I looked to the left, to the wide opening to the entrance hall, and behind me to the open doors to the dining room. No one in sight.
While Hayden exercised, I undertook a real search of the diaper bag. It had, besides the big central cavity, lots and lots of pockets and pouches, zippered or Velcroed. I found two extra pacifiers, a big plastic fake key ring which I handed to Hayden, four diapers, a faded blue dish towel that I figured Regina had used to cover her shoulder when she burped him. I rummaged through all the little pouches until I found one I'd nearly missed, because it was on one end of the bag right under the shoulder strap clip.
I slid a finger in beside the little Velcro tab that held it shut, and broke the seal. Yep, there was something in this one. The pocket was so tight I could only insert two fingers, and I slid one behind and one in front of the object, and pulled up.
"Oh no oh no oh no," I breathed, and slid what I'd extracted into Hayden's receiving blanket, which I immediately wrapped around him. I lifted him and made a beeline for the kitchen, trying to act casual. Martin and Rory were ensconced at the table with a map of the Southeast in front of them, and more detailed maps of each state we'd pass through lying ready to hand.
Just as I was trying to think of a plausible reason to talk to Martin privately, the front doorbell rang. I started to hand the baby to my husband, realized that he would feel the bundle in the blanket, realized he might well haul it out in front of his companion. That wouldn't do at all. So I veered through the kitchen doorway to the hall, scooted back down the hall, and awkwardly opened the front door with one hand.
Ellen Lowry was waiting with a stack of blankets in her arms.
"Hey, Ellen," I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I heard you had troubles, and I thought you could maybe use these," she said, nodding at the stack. "These are baby blankets I used when the boys were little, and I believe they're in perfect shape. I ran them through the washer and dryer this morning to freshen them up." "How kind of you! Please, come in," I said, trying to summon some poise. I stood aside and ushered Ellen into the living room, where the square low table was covered with changing paraphernalia. Ellen smiled in a nostalgic sort of way. "You'd think it had been so long I would've forgotten about changing the boys, but to me it seems like yesterday," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. I forced myself to respond. This was a very gracious gesture