I like to be...right.
And most days, I am. Truly. It's something that I wasn't born with, I've had to work at this "rightness" for literally years. Years of working at check lists and memorization and forcing myself to write things down.
Thanks to my years of careful training and concentration, most days that sort of organization comes naturally. Like breathing. Well ordered breathing.
Today was not that day.
What happened today?!
Today, I was DisasterMom. Today, I was distracted, fluff-headed, and scatter brained. The Hubs will be SO pleased to know that there is a chink in my Armor of Organization.
Today, Wes had to be schlepped to the doctor's office because I was worried that he was coming down with whooping cough (he isn't, thankfully). I was nervous because our pediatrician already thinks that I'm a loon who probably lives on a commune somewhere, breastfeeding my sister wives' 10 year olds and wearing love beads. I can see his "here comes to the crazy hippie" face every time we go to the office and I see him tense up every time something is suggested for my son's treatment. It's actually become sort of delightfully passive aggressive, like a holiday dinner with family. I feel like Wes will be 18 and my doctor will still be asking me if we've "considered finally doing something like taking oral vitamins to combat that newborn jaundice." To which I will gleefully answer that no, we have not.
BUT. The DTaP is one of the vaccines that we have decided to have Wes get. I read a lot. I researched a lot. I read papers and pamphlets and books and websites. On both sides of the argument.
So Wes is currently up to date on his DTaP. Which means that if he had ended up with whooping cough (pertussis) I would have skipped passive aggression and gone straight into the "I Told You So Dance" right there in the office. Possibly with hand gestures. While attempting to get meds right in that moment to simultaneously stuff into Wes' mouth while dancing.
But it wasn't whooping cough. A FACT FOR WHICH I WILL ETERNALLY BE GRATEFUL. Because whooping cough is scary.
Unfortunately, I am now the crazy mom who takes her kid into the doctor's office for (wait for it) post nasal drip. Yay me. DisasterMom.
To help me to lick my wounds, the Hubs (who came with me to the ped's office) took me out for a deeply bad-for-me lunch. We ordered. Our food order came up. And then had to be sent back THREE TIMES. At which point I almost lost it. Over a taco. I almost became that lady in line. You know who I'm talking about. Thanks to the Hubs' calming influence I managed to cap my taco-fueled rage but...barely.
Then we went to the library to return some books. Books which, thanks to the fact that I had misplaced my glasses yesterday (!) didn't get returned on time (!!) and were now overdue (!!!). I pulled into the library parking lot and realized that I had forgotten to put the stroller in the van's trunk, which meant that I now had to struggle to juggle the Wes=laden carseat, my overstuffed diaper bag, and overflowing library bag into the library with my sad, breadstick arms. Things were falling out of bags, Wes threw his Sophie le Girafe toy straight into the parking lot, and I ended up walking into the library with my wallet clutched between my teeth. I shamefacedly handed over my library card to the librarian and explained my situation and then felt the need to explain that I NEVER do this and that things had be CRAZY this week (um, it's Tuesday...), and that I'm usually SO organized, blah blah blah. I yammered, she stared, the people in line behind me got all shifty and irritated, and then...then she told me that there was still a book overdue that was unaccounted for in the stack that I had handed her. It was still in the van. All the way out in the parking lot. I finished checking out, telling her that I would bring it right in, and went to grab Wes. When I bent over to pick up the carseat, I realized that I had left the top on my travel mug of herbal tea which was stored in the side pocket of the diaper bag open and I now had Tangerine Zinger running down the leg of my jeans, into my shoe, and onto the carpet. I just managed to avoid cussing a blue streak all over the entrance to the library, grabbed my bags and the carseat and juggled everything out to the van. I grabbed the stupid book, which happened to be a book on CD, and ran it to the drop slot on the outside library wall. I finally got to the van when I realized- disc 2 of the book that I had just returned through the slot was still in the van's CD player.
I almost lost it entirely, right there in the parking lot in my mom van.
With my mom hair and my tea-stained jeans.
With my poor sick baby in the backseat that now had to be unloaded and carried into the library so that I could return that STUPID CD. LATE.
I simply rushed into the library, thrust the CD at the poor librarian with a mumbled excuse about what an idiot I am today, and ran out of there as fast as my sloshy, squishy shoes would carry me. I jumped in my van and drove home, trying not to cry.
So now I am at home. I am currently installed on the couch with an immense tub of Jif peanut butter, saltine crackers, Hershey's kisses (which are delicious with peanut butter...), and the brand new Bridget Jones book (which I didn't even realize was a thing until I saw it on the Book Express shelf!). I may never get up again.