Those Moms

I remember back when I was your typical bratty teenager, seeing moms who had their hair pulled up in a messy bun, with no make-up, wearing sweats and an overwhelmed look on their face – usually pushing a stroller or grocery cart with baby, trying to multi-task, and dragging a whiny toddler behind them. I would think in my best juvenile judgey voice “I’m never going to be one of those moms…” You know the kind. Kids in somewhat mismatching clothes with pants that are too short, dorky shoes, shirt a little dirty, fingernails too long, and either a runny nose or chocolate smeared on their face…?

I always knew I wanted kids, and that I wanted to stay home and take care of them. But I also wanted them to always have cute clothes and be well groomed and well behaved – and for me to always be skinny, cute, cool, and pulled together. (I still want these things, for the record.)

Fast forward a good fifteen years…

End of May 2012 I woke up with a sore eye one morning. So random. It felt like Brent had punched me in the night. (He didn’t. I asked.) Over the next two days it kept getting worse. It looked fine, but was really agitated and painful to the touch all around my eye socket.

Then the swelling started. And didn’t stop until my eye was literally swollen shut one morning. All I wanted to do was lay down with a hot washcloth on my face and make everyone go away. It was so painful and I was SO cranky because of it. Did I mention we had a family reunion with family pictures scheduled in THREE days?? I looked like a total freak of nature. Seriously, it was bad. Like Sloth – “Hey you gu-uys!” bad. I didn’t let anyone see it, and I refused to take a picture. I was that horrified at myself. Which I now regret – because it would’ve made an awesome addition to this blog.

Everyone told me – you don’t mess with your eyes… get to the doctor asap! So I went.

And here is where the hilarity ensues. Because it was a last minute appointment, I didn’t have time to farm out all the kids, so I brought Lindsay and baby Josh along. Things started out decent enough. They called my name and I pushed the stroller back with Lindsay by my side. The nurse took all my stats/vitals and asked me a bunch of questions (all while trying really hard to NOT stare at my grotesque eye). We then moved to the examination room where I waited a few minutes for the doctor. At this point things got sketchy.

Josh started to fuss. I took him out to discover he had spit up and drooled all over his onesie and was all wet. So I stripped him down to his diaper. No extra onesie. Shoot. I am bouncing him on my lap while sitting on the table. Lindsay has been eating a bag of goldfish which she proceeds to spill half of on the floor. Quick pick up. No biggie. Next, she starts whining she needs to go potty, now. At this exact moment the doctor and nurse enter the room. The doctor sees my eye, and recoils. Noticeably.

He decides I should go take a quick vision test out in the hall with the nurse before they go any further. So I troop back out to the hallway with drooly diaper boy in one arm and goldfish girl in tow. The nurse asks me to cover one eye with the spoon and read the letters. Simple enough, right? WRONG. Already difficult with a defunct eye — add a squirmy screechy baby in one hand, and then add a 3 year old who is literally doing the potty dance round and round me in circles (while I try to read the letters) and in new shoes that are too big, so that she is literally face-planting every 2.5 seconds, after which she cries/whines/yells so loud that the nurse has to keep repeating the instructions for the vision test over and over again.

Also – my phone in my pocket keeps ringing. WHY??? Three (ignored) calls from three different people in under 5 minutes. What are the odds?

When we finally finish the dumb test, I book it to the bathroom for Lindsay’s sake, and pass the doctor – who is still standing there in the hall – waiting patiently for the crazy train to park so he can get on with his day.

That’s when it hits me. Everything turns to slow motion and I think – I am totally one of those moms. How did I get here?? My kids are causing a scene, my daughter’s hair hasn’t been brushed in a few days (neither has mine), I’m wearing pajamas, I have a drooling naked baby in one arm, and I don’t even care that I look like Quasimodo…

When I got home I relayed the story to Brent and he rolled off the couch he was laughing so hard. He said “You’ve got to write that down!” I had a good laugh too – and realized, yes I totally was one of those moms – at least in that moment. And guess what? THAT’S OKAY. I think I’ve figured out with the fourth kid that pretty much every mom is one of those moms some of the time.

And in defense of those moms (and as an apology): it is actually really hard (and expensive!) to keep a bunch of fast growing kids in clothes that fit all the time. We are not oblivious to the flash flood pants. In fact, we are embarrassed of them. It is on our list of To Do’s. Along with 759 other things like cleaning our tile grout, sewing on seven different Cub Scout patches, and cutting out school Box Tops from Cheerios and granola bar boxes. Okay? And FYI: our kids’ clothes were clean, before they spilled/barfed/pooped/faceplanted in them on the way over. So please, go easy on us. We are exhausted. We haven’t slept in three years and are still stuck in our in-between jeans.

Now. All of this begs the question (in light of teenage Tami’s life goals) – am I an epic failure?

Nah.

Just livin the mom dream.

The real – dirty hard want to run away some days amazing rewarding wouldn’t change it for the world – one.

PS – Thanks to some serious meds, the cyclops eye cleared up in record time. And I wore make-up, heels, and had brushed hair for the family reunion photos. As did all four of my kids. WIN.