It’s been a rough couple of weeks to be me. It’s not because I have such a difficult life. I have nothing to complain about, truly. It’s just that my brain used to function, but it doesn’t anymore.
For real, people, I used to have it pretty much together. Not in a little-miss-perfect kind of way, but in a functional-thinking-human kind of way. I was a teacher, and a pretty good one. I started and finished projects. I remembered people’s birthdays. I showed up on time (usually). I used to have a working brain.
Fast forward to the past fourteen days and all of that is behind me. My job now is to be a wife and a mom and if I’m being honest, my resumé is questionable. It’s not that I’m not dedicated. love my guys and I’m working at being a supermom. However, the past two weeks have reminded me quite poignantly of my shortcomings. The fact that the great purpling of 2016 is still vivid in my memory (and on my son’s pinkie toenails) only adds to my defeat.
Two Sabbaths ago, I woke up to a spotless boy (not that he was so extra clean, he just didn’t have mystery pox that day, though he was still a bit lavender). Things were off to a good start. We had breakfast, my husband left for the early service at church, and Baby Guy went down for his nap. I, dutiful wife and mother that I am, cleared the table, got ready for church, prepared and packed up my son’s lunch, put the lasagna in the oven to time bake during second service, and double-checked that diapers and wipes were in the bag. Baby Guy woke up with only 17 minutes left until Sabbath School. I hurried him into his already-laid-out church clothes (I’m so on top of it this morning, I thought), and made it out the door with only 2 minutes left.
I knew we’d be late to Sabbath School, but only by a minute or two since one of the great perks of being a pastor’s wife is that I can park in the special designated (and close to Sabbath School) parking. Unfortunately, those spots were all taken. And it was raining. So I parked far away and climbed in the backseat to put a raincoat on Baby Guy before we went in. At this point the Sabbath School teacher was already on Day 5 of the Creation story, so we’d obviously missed a lot. Strike one for
When church was over, we headed out to the van, and after a mere four minutes of searching the diaper bag for the keys, the remote wouldn’t work and we had to use the key (gasp). Sadly, the malfunctioning remote was just foreshadowing the calamity ahead: the mom-mobile wouldn’t start due to my neglect of turning off the headlights. Strike two.
We decided to come back and jump the car after lunch and nap, moved the carseat to my husband’s car, and were finally on way home to a delicious hot and ready lasagna.
Well, except that it turns out I had set the lasagna to begin baking at 12:30 a.m., so it was more like a cold and not-at-all ready lasagna that we had to wait another hour to eat. And…I’m out.
Of course that was just one day, and the week had more in store for me. I accidentally served my son soy (again). I got lazy and decided to sauté his spinach instead of steaming it, so I sprayed the pan with olive oil cooking spray without even thinking about it. Baby Guy had little sandpaper knees and elbows for a few days and I couldn’t figure out why, until later in the week when I was reminiscing to myself about my days on the dairy/soy/gluten free diet when I couldn’t use cooking spray because of the soy lecithin. I felt bad about it, but by the time I even figured out that the eczema outbreak was all my fault it was pretty much over. I’m back to steaming the spinach like a good mom.
Lately I’ve been doing this: I’ll give Baby Guy a bottle, and I mean, I’ll be feeding him for 3-4 minutes and he’ll start to get fussy. Each time it happens I try to calm him down, which is not easy because it’s like wrestling an eel that you love and cherish but want no harm to come to. He’s really skinny and has figured out that if he lifts his arms straight up there is basically no way for me to hang on to him. He hasn’t figured out that if I drop him it will not be as fun and awesome as he thinks it’s going to be. And, no, I know what you’re thinking. This story is not about me dropping my son. I haven’t done that yet. But I do keep giving him bottles with the stopper still on. That poor little boy drinks patiently for minutes with nothing coming out and then starts fussing. He’s actually fairly patient for a 10 month old, it seems.
Twice in the last week and a half I’ve turned on the wrong burner on my stove and melted plastic items while filling my kitchen with horrible plasticky smoke. Never fear, though. Baby Guy hangs out outdoors for awhile after these incidents, breathing only the freshest of air until the fans and open windows do their job.
My husband and I both left our debit cards at home the other day, which we discovered at the end of a lengthy self-checkout line. We were able to dig up another form of payment, but it was more stressful than a shopping trip needs to be. Of course this was the same shopping trip that had begun with a parking lot diaper change of doom, requiring a change of pants for Baby Guy. Alas, there were no pants or cloth diapers to be found in the diaper bag, because for some reason I decided earlier that morning that the one thing in my life that I needed to declutter was the bag that holds all of the things I actually need to use. Adding to my shame was the fact that I’d dressed him in a t-shirt rather than a onesie, so he had to wear a ‘sposie with no pants out in public. Obviously this meant that we’d immediately run into someone we knew so that my mortification could be complete.
I’m working on getting the little one to let me sleep through the night, which I’m hoping will go a long way toward getting my brain back. Until then, if you’re in the neighborhood, keep an eye out for toxic smoke.
Happy Sabbath. May your vehicles start and your diaper bags be well stocked.