It should be apparent from the name of this blog that I'm a fairly Type-A, multitasky perfectionist. I am never late for appointments, have had 4.0 GPA's my entire life, throw damn good parties, and write thank you notes for everything. That said, I don't know who the hell took over my life this week.
In the space of ONE WEEK, I effed up the following three important mommy tasks:
FIRST, totally blew off my son's 3-year check-up at the pediatrician's. As in, the appointment was at 3pm and I worked until 5:45 and went to pick him up at school, brought him home, started cooking dinner, and then and only then, at 6:45, saw the calendar on the fridge. Got charged $30 for it, which I didn't complain about; I deserved it. My husband actually jumped up and down laughing he was so excited I had fucked something up. Apparently I am so "perfect" that he feels like a total loser, so a chink in my armor is something to celebrate.
SECOND, forgot that it was PAJAMA DAY at my son's school. We showed up and there are five little friends romping around singing "PAJAMA DAY! PAJAMA DAY!" in their cute little PJ's, and my son's face just fell. WORST. MOM. EVER. Fortunately we don't live far from school so I said I'd just run back and get him his PJ's. His lip trembled, and I knew what was going on in his little head: he would have to stand there, shamed, in REGULAR CLOTHES for fifteen minutes until I got back. He would be odd man out. So I said, hey, how about you just come with me? The jumping and smiling that ensued nearly rivaled my husband's non-perfection celebration. The novelty of getting to school and then getting to IMMEDIATELY GO BACK HOME AGAIN was mind-blowingly awesome, apparently. Fifteen minutes later he returned victorious, clad head to toe in flannel Lightning McQueen (bag by Chanel, earrings by Harry Winston).
THREE, and this is the big one, I let my kid ride around in the big part of the shopping cart and HE FELL OUT. Up until he was 2 and a half I would have said no way, don't trust a kid to do that. From 2 and a half up until yesterday morning I would have said, Yes, it's fine. Frogboy is pretty well behaved, a good listener, and not a daredevil (except when it's gym time at school and he's supposed to be). He is an optimistically cautious kid, and he's very coordinated. If I tell him to sit down, he does. But we were at Target and he was in the big part of the cart and I was VERY CLEAR about him sitting down and STAYING sitting down, had him repeat the rule back to me, etc. I had my hand on the handlebar of the cart and was looking at some onesies for my friend's baby shower, trying to find the effing ORGANIC ones she had registered for, which were nowhere to be found, but again, HAND ON THE CART, though clearly he was just in my peripheral vision, and suddenly I hear "Mira!!" from a young pregnant Target employee and I look just in time to see my boy's legs upside down in the air as he went overboard. The cart was between us so I couldn't reach him to catch him--and he landed flat on his back, knocking the air out of him. No bruise, no lump, but I was totally paranoid for the next four hours and wouldn't put him down for a nap and kept feeling his head and asking him how he felt and looking at his pupils for dilation. I was pretty sure he hadn't hit his head but you never know, it happened so fast! The Target employee looked at me like I was the WORST MOTHER EVER, and I totally felt like she was going to call DCFS on me or something. She actually did go get a manager, who came over and checked on my son and asked if we wanted to file an incident report, but he just wanted them to go away so he could just hold his mommy. They should really warn you about the danger. Just kidding, I know, they do. I felt unbelievably stupid for ignoring the little warning symbols on the seat but honestly, he's a smart kid (until I dropped him on his head anyway). The employee told me he had just scooched up and was sitting his butt on the rim of the cart as a seat (well if you saw it all happening thanks for saying something AFTER he fell, beeyotch). Ugh, just mad at myself and the world, and I told him it was my fault for not protecting him. I just felt horrible. I came home and told my husband about it and he made me feel better and then said, "I'm just glad it wasn't me in charge when that happened, you would have ripped me a new one." Which is totally true. I have yelled at him for less.
I think the husband is having a good week. My totally temporary lameness has made him feel like less of a jackass, isn't that adorable? Can I mark this down as a mitzvah?
