Yes, our week really ended this way.

Tonight we went out to dinner with some friends and their two boys.  Sara was crabby from the get-go ... just generally being fussy about anything and everything (which we thought was all over nothing).  After a trip outside with Daddy to go over the rules, Sara sat in her chair and started in on a tortilla.  Seemingly content.  Not long after our food arrived, she started saying, "poo-poo," which could mean she has to go or that she already went.  She was sitting by Steve, who told her we'd change her diaper in a minute.  Well, a minute was going to be too long.  A guy from the table across the way came over and said, "Uhhhh ... you guys have a problem," and pointed straight to Sara.  I stood up to look around and, sure enough, under her high chair was a big pile of liquid poop.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  While it was comical and I can laugh about it now, I'm sure it wasn't funny or appetizing to the other diners who saw the excrement pouring out of her shorts, down the back of the high chair, and onto the floor (which was tile, luckily).  (For their part, those around us were all incredibly kind and understanding, thank goodness).  While Steve carefully carried Sara out of the restaurant, Kristi and I started in on the mess with paper towels, and the restaurant staff followed up with a mop.  Out in the parking lot, Steve and Jerrod cleaned up Sara with the few wipes we had on hand between us, Steve's undershirt, and some random golf towels left in Jerrod's car.  For the record, he said we could keep them.  As you can imagine, that was pretty much the end of dinner.  We got in the car to come home, where both Steve and Sara immediately bathed, and Steve so insightfully stated, "Well, I guess we know why she was crabby earlier."  Yep, I guess so.

P.S. For those of you who are concerned (and I know some of you are), I did manage to suck down my happy hour house margarita on the rocks before our quick exit.  All was not lost.