That’s what I get for bringing God into it.
Clearly, God chose sides today. And he was not rooting for team Mommy.
I should’ve known as I was making threats this morning on our way to school that all this punishment talk was going to come back and bite me in the ass. BIG TIME.
So let me set the stage here. Noob Baby asked me to make her an egg for breakfast. The egg requests are few and far between, so when I get one of those … immediately red flags are raised.
Me: Are you SURE you can finish an egg? We have to leave for school in five minutes.
Noob Baby: Yes, Mommy. Absolutely sure.
Are you COMPLETELY POSITIVE you’re not going to make Mommy boil an egg for you, peel the boiling hot grenade, and risk our whole house smelling of FART, just so you can leave the egg untouched (aka for me to eat)? But what I really said was…
Me: Ok, well you’d better not waste the egg. God will be very unhappy if you waste food.
NB: I promise, Mommy. Promise!
NM Tip: Overeager promises from children should put an adult on high alert.
You see where this is going, right?
With T minus 5 minutes till school, the egg sat there in its glimmering, perfectly yellow glory looking as lonely and neglected as ever. The house smelled of fart. My fingernails had eggshells underneath them.
NB: I don’t want my egg Mommy. I’m full.
I totally lost it. And when I lose it … I become, super Christian??? It’s like, what kind of a drunk are you, but rather, what kind of a pissed parent are you?
Apparently, I’m the evangelical pissed parent.
Me: God is going to be very angry with you. You wasted food AND you wasted my time. God is going to be very upset and punish you if you don’t finish your breakfast.
In my mind, of course, the wasting of Mommy’s time was the real clincher. I just had to drive the point home… and what better way to do it than remind your 4-year-old of God’s wrath.
Let the record show that I am aware that this is very poor religious instruction.
OBVIOUSLY, hindsight is 20/20. OBVIOUSLY, God no likey Mommy using God’s name so flippantly on a Monday morning. OBVIOUSLY I brought the series of unfortunate events upon myself… the series of unfortunate events which I am now calling SHITZKRIEG 2012.
So, we’re driving to school after the evangelical guilt smackdown I’ve just delivered to NB. And yes, at this point I know I’ve come on a wee bit strong… it’s only an egg for chrissake (and yes, I just used God’s name in vain again. How does that saying go again?? Fool me once…) But, it’s Monday. I haven’t had my coffee. I’m trying to get a 3-month-old in the car as well.
Well, speaking of that 3-month-old, NB2.0 was just being her usual self… la dee da… just minding my own business… being totally amazing. On my best behavior because I’m the second child. Nothing to see here …. move it along, folks…
It’s a pretty short ride to preschool. Less than five minutes. But it’s more than enough time for NB2.0 to bring on the fireworks. What is normally a very brief and quiet car ride has now turned into a one-man dialogue of hot, steamy sharts (shitty farts). Her diaper is audibly getting fuller and smellier with each passing minute. I can hear her 11pm feed. And then her 4 am feed. It’s a tango of the senses. And by “tango”, I mean full on air and land assault.
Me: Oh, wow honey (nervous laughter) That sure sounds like a big diapy! Let’s save some of that for later, shall we? And you haven’t even had breakfast yet??
NB is also looking over at her little sister nervously.
NB: Um, Mommy. Sissy is pooping. A LOT.
At this point it dawns on me that I’ve forgotten item #5 on my To-Do list (from two months ago):
5. Refill diapers in emergency car kit
Oh, and #6 as well.
6. Refill baby wipes in emergency car kit
I’m also ruing the moment I chose to leave the diaper bag behind this morning, “It’s just a five minute drop-off.” Stoopid! Oh, how five minutes can be an eternity.
Some resourceful moms (who aren’t noobs) would know how to deal with this situation. Those moms can change a diaper blow out in less than a minute in the back of their SUV (or over their knees) and get their firstborn to school on time. They can probably fasten a makeshift diaper out of a burp cloth. Those are the moms you want next to you in battle. Incidentally, those are the moms I love to hate.
Me? I’m Noob Mommy.
I’m the mom you see bumbling around like a blithering eejit. If any baby’s got her diaper on backwards… it’s mine. I’m the mom you don’t want next to you in battle cuz I’ll probably get everyone else killed. I’m a total liability.
However, I prefer to see it this way. I choose the road less traveled. Or in layman’s terms … the Idiot’s Route.
So, knowing that NB2.0 has a reeeeeeediculously full diaper and I am completely out of diaper essentials (and we are about to be late for school which is a huge pet peeve of mine), I throw NB2.0 in my brand new Beco baby carrier. What? You’re saying it’s not a good idea to strap a diaper bomb onto my chest as I approach the school yard? You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out this equation:
DIAPER OVERLOAD + LEGS AKIMBO + 13 LB. BABY + ULTIMATE BABY CARRIER WEDGIE = X
I prayed (to the God I had just been pissing off) that the “business” which smelled oh so much like goat, would contain itself for just five minutes. All I needed to do was walk NB to her line and dash. Drop and dash. Drop and dash. I’m chanting to myself. All ten fingers and toes are crossed.
Drop and … wait what’s that dripping down my leg?
Oh baby, this diaper just ain’t big enough for the two of us.
Sure enough, as Noob Baby is still in mid-sentence asking me about what kind of punishment God is going to dole out on her for not finishing her egg, I know I am the target of his wrath. I look down to see El Shitzkrieg running down my leg, down my shin and oozing out both sides of the carrier’s leg holes all over my shirt.
What happens next registers in slo-mo.
NB2.0 is all smiles (of course).
I yell, “Ahhhhh Gawwwdddd.” I see NB look at me. At my leg. At me wiping the shit off my legs with my bare hands. At some point I rewipe the shit onto myself kinda like you would peanut butter from a messy sandwich. Poop is everywhere. It’s like a poopy massacre.
Luckily, this serves as the catalyst that forces NB to man it up. I guess she knew she had no choice. She books it over to her line all by herself without needing any hugs, kisses, or last minute waves. In fact, she’s gone faster than a bat outta hell.
You know what they say… when doody calls.
Well, I didn’t stick around either. I tried to head back to the car without making any eye contact with ANYONE. Very rarely does the thought cross your mind, Hey maybe if I don’t make eye contact with people, they won’t notice I’m oozing shit.
So, God clearly chose to bring down some punishment today. And it wasn’t for NB wasting her egg. I accept my fate, though. I made threats. About God. Over an egg. But, God… do you think it may have been a tiny bit *excessive* that all the baby wipes in my car “happened” to be dried to the consistency of papyrus?
You can imagine, it was a shitty drive home. I’d say it was a drive up Shit Creek. I mean, I was in some deep shit.
It was a crappy morning.
I shit you not.
Ok, I’m done.