Choices

You know you're a wearied mother when you let your baby play in a spilled-out pile of potato buds instead of cleaning it up JUST so you can finish emptying the dishwasher.  

Cleavage Drool & Other Signs of Endearment

I had a Bill Cosby moment.  In Himself, the great comic genious recalls how his newborn baby girl didn't just have a bowel movement, she [insert Cosby cutsie voice here] "made a poo poo."  While I'm certainly past the stage of loving my boy's poop (yeah, that love wanted real fast after odor started), he has other habits that not only can I not resist, but actually endear him more to me.  I have recently had a silent celebration in honor of getting my "pregnancy brain" back, but yesterday I realized that motherhood totally circumvents your good sense forever.  Tonight, my little boy drifted off to sleep in his car seat as I was driving him home from daycare.  Because he's had such a rough time adjusting to daycare, I decided to gently remove him from his car seat and hold him so he would stay asleep a little longer (who wouldn't sleep longer when hearing the thumping of a heartbeat and squishy noises from your stomach digesting your lunch).  I delicately removed my sweet sleeping boy from the car seat and carried him into the house whereupon I sat on the couch with him still in my arms.  He bristled a bit from being slightly jostled before settling into an even deeper sleep.  His breaths extended to a steady rhythm and suddenly I felt an odd sensation down the front of my shirt.  Reilly was so content that his mouth had dropped open so it was slightly ajar, and a thin line of drool extended and traveled southward in between "my girls" toward my perfectly-toned post-pregnancy belly (ok, my slightly lumpy post-preg belly).  My reaction landed somewhere between surprise and amusement when I realized that not only didn't I mind my boy's drool, but I loved it.  I loved that he was so content that his mouth casually fell open and I didn't mind getting wet from yet another naturally-created body fluid that makes my little one who he is.  Scary.

See Mommy Contend for Her Sanity

There's never a dull moment in Mommy's world.  This morning, instead of getting Reilly ready for daycare and waving goodbye to Joe and him as I contentedly sipped my coffee, pandemonium struck.  I should have known, because contention began at 4:30 this morning as I was summoned (by my crying baby and eventual kick from my husband) to attention.  After calming my baby boy, I proceeded to stay awake for an hour as I tried, to no avail, to block out my husband's sick-snore [if you've never heard of "sick-snore," that is the louder, more pronounced snoring that erupts from men when they are congested due to illness].  At 5:30, I put in earplugs and drifted off.  I was awakened at around 8:30 to a violent sound in the bathroom where I heard Joe's shower running.  Ever the optimist, I told myself nothing was worse than yesterday (Joe JUST had a cold) and dragged myself out of bed to get my cutie ready for daycare.  After fulfilling his baby duties (crying, resisting as I tried to dress him), I heard a faint voice from the bedroom utter, I need you to do me a favor.  From years of experience, Joe never asks anything of me PC (pre-coffee) in the morning, so I knew something was up.  He asked me to call his job to let them know that his "cold" had progressed to dizziness and vomiting and he would not make it into work.  Here is where I made a fatal flaw for if I had descended the stairs with Reilly at that moment and called Joe's work, none of the following would have happened.  But, selfish me, I attempted to brush my teeth before the phone call which meant that I brought Reilly into the bathroom with me (as I've done millions of times before without incident) as I plunged my toothbrush into the nasty abyss of my morning breath.  To remain standing, he held onto the toilet and watched this process in wonderment, as he always does.  Suddenly, without warning, he lost his balance, hitting his head on the ceramic trash can before he fell onto the tiled floor in between the toilet and the vanity.  I quickly put down my toothbrush to console my now hysterical boy and walked into his bedroom with him so his bathroom-amplified cries wouldn't continue to disturb my sick husband.  As you may suspect, it took a few minutes to calm him down and then he decided he wanted me to read him a book.  I tried to trick him by quickly turning the pages and saying "fox" and "hound" (instead of reading all the words) because my mouth was still filled with toothpaste.  I then closed the book so I could finish brushing my teeth to which he loudly declared his protest. Although a mess of toothpaste and snot, we both succeeded in getting down the stairs in one piece and I called Joe's work and then the daycare to tell them we'd be late.  Reilly had been so difficult as I was dressing him this morning that I decided to actually just leave the soiled shirt on him and change him when we got to our destination, which by now seemed light-years away.  I brewed some coffee so I could properly handle my 2500 pound car and smelled a poopy diaper to be changed.  I instinctively glanced at the clock which read 9:30 AM, aka breakfast time, so I decided to feed him breakfast before I changed his diaper.  I put him in his high chair and he screamed as I strapped him in.  As again you may suspect, he refused to eat anything and still screamed, so I took him out, deciding to just change his diaper and go.  No big deal on a normal day - but not today.  As soon as he identified the diaper and wipes in my hand, he started crying and got more hysterical as I lay him down to change him.  Still hoping for the best, I told him in my best soothing voice to calm down, that everything was gonna be alright, etc.  He basically ignored me and started wriggling away with all his might.  I'm used to some figitting so I tried to continue changing him.  It was at this point that he had a total and complete meltdown.  He arched his back, tried again and again to roll over and screamed all while his rump, covered in poop, threatened to stain my family room carpet by getting dangerously close to sitting down.  With all my might, I had to fight my son to stay on his back and let me lift his legs to clean him off.  Suffice to say, I've never had a battle like this one before simply to change him, and I actually had to sit on his legs to hold him down.  Every step in this changing process was a battle, but we finally finished and Reilly instantly stopped crying (don't you just love that, moms?) but then he got his eye on an empty bakery box we had indulged in during last night's movie and proceeded to shake all the crumbs onto the floor.  At this point, I actually considered letting him make more of mess of my family room than already was, but then in an insane moment of superheroism, I decided that I was still in charge.  I took the container away from him, and again he broke into hysterics (for the 4th or 5th time today - I don't know, I've lost count) and I told myself silently, get this boy into the kitchen and get some Motrin for that early-morning head smack in him ASAP!!  Again, no problem on any other day, but today, he refused to ingest the Motrin and screamed as though I were poisoning him, convincing me to drive him to daycare and then give him the Motrin while he was strapped in the car seat (something I never thought I'd resort to).  I strapped him in (as he screamed) and prayed that the Elmo CD was in the box and that no random electronic glitch would thwart my DVD player from working.  God heard my plea and the DVD played happily for the entire 15 minute ride there.  I was able to give Reilly the medicine, and then turn off the car/movie to take him safely into daycare.  I knew the separation part would be killer today from the morning we had had, so I braced myself, brought him inside, and tried to ignore his crying and  clawing at my neck as I tried to wrap up the "instructional" conversation I seem to have with his daycare providers every day.  I guess this is partly my fault: I did answer the question, did he have breakfast? with a too-long explanation about how he hit his head so he didn't want to eat and could you feed him now?  to which the daycare lady said, well, he didn't eat much yesterday, is he feeling well?  and I answered, well, maybe not, he's still got a cold and his gums are really swollen from teething, and all the while Reilly is freaking out more and more because he knows that this is when the "separation" takes place.  When he practically pulled my entire shirt off, I finally asked a nice lady who was unsuspectingly rocking another child, do you think you can just take him cause he's really off today and not letting go of me, to which she took one look at me, surveyed the situation, Got It (thank you Jesus), and grabbed Reilly, his bag, and his winter coat.  I was almost in the clear until the lady I had the first conversation with asked me for Orajel for later in the day and I said, I think it's in the outside pocket of my diaper bag... can you look so Reilly doesn't see me? and she said, well, I can't right now, and I sighed and said, OK, leaned my head back into Reilly's view to check the diaper bag pockets, located the Orajel, caused Reilly to get even more hysterical when he saw me, and announced my find.  As I again hid around the corner out of Reilly's view, I assured them I'd pick Reilly up if he was crying uncontrollably or if they couldn't handle him today.  I power-walked out that door, and in a fit of selfishness entertained the thought of turning off my ringer and curling up into bed next to my sick husband.  How silly, I thought, because THIS Mommy germaphobe would never lay down next to her now-vomiting husband and actually relax.  Turning off the ringer, however, still danced lazily in front of my ever-throbbing head.  And so after I made a mental note to never again judge a mom who brought her child to school late, my day began.