I gritted my teeth as I heard his cries from the bedroom. I checked the clock. 45 minutes? That’s it? I went up and got that crying little mess of a boy.
He had 3 teeth trying to poke through and he was in pain. And now I was in pain because I couldn’t “do” anything with the house. No laundry, no dishes, can’t prep for dinner. I had him gulp down some Tylenol and I changed the diaper amid the wails and loaded him in the car.
From past experience, teething was more bearable if we just got out of the house. So I buckled little TJ in his car seat and I turned the car on… sat there as it idled. Then the screaming started again. He had his bunny, Tylenol and milk, but the pain was still winning. I white-knuckled the steering wheel and checked the clock.
We had two hours until we picked up the boys from preschool. Fleetingly, I thought about how bone-weary I was. That nap would have been nice. Searching my mental rolodex, which is scattered on the floor these days, I thought, “I have stuff to drop off at Goodwill and groceries to get. We can do this.”
He screamed through Goodwill and until we got to Fry’s. Then, like magic, I took him out of his car seat, put him in the shopping cart and he started smiling and pointing “Lookit that!!!” Change of scenery works every time. I raced him through the aisles of the grocery store knowing this happy time of him staying in the cart was limited. We got in line to check out.
The lady in front of me was taking awhile and TJ was starting to get restless. I pushed the cart back and forth and made silly faces and tried to keep him from grabbing all of the conveniently placed bad-for-you-stuff. When I got to the register, the sweet employee talked to TJ and high-fived him. He told him what a great little boy he was.
He started to ring my items and looked me straight in the eye and smiled, “I can tell you must be a good mom.” My eyes welled up and I had to blink a few times. “Thank you. You have no idea how much you made my day.”
The day went on pretty much as usual. All three with their childish demands and dinner being the most ridiculously stressful time of day. The fighting about who gets to sit in what chair and how quickly the baby will get sick of his high chair and start throwing food (I’m always watching out of the corner of my eye so I can catch him before the food fight). Then the tired attempt at making all of them clean up while TJ dumps the same stuff out of the baskets.
The grind is a killer, but for a brief second, I was seen today. I was known. And as I tucked older two in bed, I realized that maybe, just maybe… I could do it all again tomorrow.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
