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We were in the artisanal coffee shop downtown. Michael was staring intensely at a pastry tower, when his lower lip starting to tremble. “No, Michael,” I whispered, grabbing his arm so tightly I risked interrupting his circulatory system. “We are having a pleasant afternoon. We agreed on no more sweets because they make you too hyper.”
He didn’t listen. Instead, he decided to stomp and scream as he always does whenever he doesn’t get his own way. Especially when we’re surrounded by people who might judge my parenting skills—or lack thereof. And then, like clockwork, he did it. There was a faint, yet unmistakable, shhhht sound, followed by the specific, horrible squish that only a fully saturated, cotton adult diaper can produce.
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