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| Naw, it’s cool. Just a bladder infection. |
And now, let’s check in with everyone’s favorite Terrible Midwestern Mama-
Me.
This week’s descent into therapy is brought to you by the letter T, for Toilet Bowl. Nora had been happily using the potty, not using the potty, and talking about things she wanted to do whilst on the potty (read various books, call loved ones on the phone, not take her nap, etc.) for the better part of the hour leading up to her usual rest time. And as our potty training is generally Nora-lead, i.e. she can pee or not pee at this point and get applause, I was letting her take her sweet time about it- up to a point. Towards the end of The Great Pee, I realized that Suzy had been fussing in her bouncer/was being ignored for far longer than we usually allow (oh, about twenty minutes or so) and I encouraged my eldest to wrap it up. (I was already thinking about the laundry list of tasks that lay ahead during her naptime, like soaking/scraping dried eggs from the underside of her booster seat…and, you know, laundry.)
She happily obliged, hopping down from the toilet and preparing to wash her hands. I turned away for a moment to start the water/soap portion of the afternoon’s entertainment and turned back to find- BOTH OF NORA’S ARMS FULLY IN THE TOILET.
I’m not proud of this moment, but I yelled. A lot. About how we do not put our body parts into the toilet bowl and how she was not being a good listener and could she please never do that again. It was a pretty full-on Keely Yell, I’m ashamed to admit.
She froze like she had been slapped.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.” She held out her dripping arms in the most helpful way she could manage. I cleaned her up, paying careful attention to sanitize such crucial areas as her inner elbows. All the while she solemnly acknowledged that kind people don’t touch the toilet water.
A short while later, as I was kissing her goodnight for her nap, I apologized to her. I explained that, while I was worried about germs and pinched fingers, I shouldn’t have yelled quite so much. She quietly put both hands on my cheeks and held my face close.
“It’s okay, Mommy. You’re a nice girl.”
“Thank you, Nora.”
“You have pretty eyelashes.”
“Thanks.”
So that’s when I left my daughter’s room and had a ten minute crying jag. And yeah, for those of you playing along at home, my youngest kid was still expressing concern from the confines of her aquarium bouncer.
And lest you think that Susannah escaped unharmed from from my Bad Momitude (aside from abandonment in a vibrating, bubbly prison), she suffered neglect as a direct result of her sister’s awesome social calendar.
Yesterday we were invited to see Seussical, the Musical (!) at The Marriott Theatre (thanks, Aunties Julia and Cindy!), which we all enjoyed. Nora punctuated her exceptional theatergoer skillz with exclamations of OH NO at Horton’s plight, followed by concerned [loud] questions about WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO during quieter moments and solos. But, altogether a win in the Culture And Arts department.
Zuzu, for her part, had been snuggling nicely against me for the majority of the show. She started to get a little squirmy towards the end, to which I responded with a typical Mom-To-Second-Kid response: Shh…you’re fine.
And I reassured her of this fact throughout the slightly trafficky ride back to our home, all the while attempting to keep Nora awake until her naptime. And maybe get her to eat a bite of her sandwich. And perhaps stop bending her books inside out. The usual.
By the time we returned home, Nora was settled down for her nap, and I finally had a chance to hang out with The Little, it occurred to me that Susannah hadn’t had a chance to eat since a quick parking lot snack at 10am (What’re you looking at, tour bus?) and was rather starving. It had, after all, been three hours.
That would have to wait, however. For when I finally picked her up out of her car seat, I realized that she had pooped clear up to her neck. And was slightly unhappy about it.
After a quick sponge bath and disinfecting (the first for Susannah, the second for anything she or I had touched), I was able to actually feed her.
And she smiled happily up at me, like- You always take care of everything.
Which sent me off on another crying jag.
I don’t think I’ll be getting that Employee Of The Year mug anytime soon. Let alone World’s Best Mom.
More like Hey, It’s That Woman Who Cares For Her Kids With Astounding Mediocrity.
I think I’ve got the market cornered for that Hallmark moment.
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