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Jen scrambled down out of the crib a little panicked.
"Uh, I'm sorry," she urged, "but I'm not sure I can wait for you to see me downstairs," she was jigging up and down and holding in her stomach. "And I really don't want to have an accident. Please help me!"
But Sara's mother seemed to pay her no heed, dashing straight back out of the room to go and get Sara regardless. It seemed rather callous to Jen, who didn't realise that Sara was in quite an unpleasant state herself. Nevertheless, she began to hobble her way downstairs, arms across her belly, and praying with every jarring step that she didn't explode as a result. As she limped her way into the bathroom, she was feeling very weak and drenched in cold sweat.
"Please," she begged, eyeing the toilet in there as her only possible source of salvation, even though she'd have to throw herself onto it in front of Sara and her mother, even if she could get her diaper off. Her fingers felt too weak to even attempt it for herself. "Please help me get this off." She had one chance now, she thought to herself; the slightest further delay and it would have to happen right here and now as she was. Surely Sara's mother didn't want that, especially considering she'd apparently be the one cleaning it up if it did. Mind you, she might not fancy the possibility of cleaning it off her bathroom floor, either, and that still seemed like a very real likelihood at this point, even though the toilet was only a few long desperate staggers away.
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