Unplanned Parenthood

Today I made whipped cream on my front porch

Jack was napping and I needed whipped cream to finish the cake I was making for my mom for Mother's Day and I knew the beaters would wake him up, so I did the only thing I could think of.  I plugged in the mixer, took my bowl of cold whipping cream and my beaters, and stood on my porch with the door mostly closed and whipped the hell out of that cream.

My neighbors are the nicest people in the world and, while I saw a brief look of confusion and then concern pass over their faces, they waved and said hello like there was nothing out of the ordinary.

I had a nice Mother's Day, spent time with Jack and with my mom and with my brother (whose birthday is today, as well), and made my mom the most amazing orange pound cake with chocolate chunks and chocolate ganache.  It was heavenly, if I do say so myself.

To properly wish his uncle a happy birthday, Jack grabbed his Blackberry and put it where all important things go:  the toilet.

Also in the toilet this week:  TV remote, one of my running shoes, one of Jack's shoes, a candle and a tube of lotion.  I think it's time to get one of those clamp things that locks the toilet lid, but I have this horrible vision of getting up in the middle of the night to pee, being unable to unlock the toilet and relieving myself in the bathtub.

Anyways, Mother's Day was great.  I received wonderful cards and gifts and hugs and love from family and friends, I made an amazing cake and now my child is sleeping.

I think I'll take a hot bath.

The One Where I Lock My Kid in the Car.

When I was up visiting my family in Washington, I had one of my finest moments in motherhood.

My mom, Jack and I were out shopping at one of those big strip mall thingies with the Old Navy and Home Depot, etc. and after wrestling a purple hippo out of Jack's mouth long enough to scan it at the register, he had a meltdown and I headed out to the car with him.

(First, I must digress to tell you that getting Jack into (and out of) his carseat is kind of how I would imagine strapping a greased, rabid wolverine into a carseat.  He thrashes, screeches, arches his back and grabs my hair in a last ditch effort to stop the evil buckling of the straps OHMYGODTHISISTORTURE.  My dad is rolling his eyes right now because when I was with him for the Great Pumpkin Fiasco of 2007, Jack was a total angel the whole time in the car because my child likes to make me a LIAR.)

We quickly walked through the typical, Northwest drizzle and I pushed the button to unlock the doors on my mom's car.  I wrangled Jack out of his stroller (...immediate back arching upon the unbuckling of the straps.  Thank you, child, you are incredibly helpful.), threw the keys on the driver's seat and fought the good fight as his indignant screams invited looks of pity from passersby.

With the last buckle engaged, I shut the door on my screaming child and heaved a sigh of relief.  My mom asked me to pop the trunk, so I grabbed the handle of the front door.  Locked.  Back door.  Locked.  Here, let me try the handle 57 more times.  Nope.  Locked.

But I pushed the button!  The doors unlocked!  Well.  Apparently, on my mom's car, if you unlock the doors with the button but only open the back door, the doors re-lock after a certain amount of time.  Which is probably the stupidest mechanism I've ever heard of.

Jack's tear-stained face looked pathetically up at me through the back window and I stood there, a deer in headlights, trying to decide if I should just throw a rock through the window.  (Let me note, that he was totally fine, just pissed that he was in his carseat and very tired.  And, man, was he pissed.)

My mom called 911.  I stood there, tapping on the window, making ridiculous faces and trying to get a smile.  The 911 operator asked my mom for her name, birthdate, location and a whole string of questions that made me suddenly wracked with fear that 911?  Was calling CPS.  Alas, no, they were just standard.  They sent a patrol car over but he couldn't use a slim jim because of the electronic locks and the possibility of cutting one of the wires inside the door.  Fire department?  Would break a window.  Extra set of keys?  No where to be found at home, reported Noel.  Thankfully, Jack fell asleep.

Suddenly, it occurred to me:  THIS IS WHY I HAVE AAA.  Within an hour, a tow truck was there.  An hour that I spent standing in the rain, staring at my baby through a locked car window feeling like a miserable failure.

Car is opened, alarm set off, child rescued, scramble to figure out how to get the car to start (anti-theft mechanism.  Jesus.  They need to make a car especially for moms.  No special add-ons where the car thinks for itself.  Just a lock and key.) and we make a beeline for pasta alfredo and hot tea for lunch.

Jack, totally non-plussed by the whole situation, happily accepts a bottle and grins like a maniac.  I consider calling CPS on myself.

THE END.

The one where I almost take myself to the emergency room, which would have been regrettable.

A couple of weeks ago I thought I was going blind.

I woke up, put my contacts in and instantly thought something was weird.  I just couldn't see normally.  Checked the eyeballs and, yes, the contacts were in.  Cover the left eye...hmmm, I can kind of see.  I mean, better than if I didn't have my contacts in.  Cover the right eye...yes, same on that side.

I thought maybe the sleep deprivation had taken its toll and I was just a little "bleary eyed."

The day wore on and it seemed to get worse.  I just...couldn't see right.  It felt like I wasn't wearing contacts, but not quite that bad.  Clearly, my eyes had suddenly gotten much, much worse.  I knew I needed to go see an eye doctor, and apparently I needed to go, like, today.

I called around and got an eye appointment for 5 days out.  That was the earliest I could find and I started to get panicky.  Nothing I can do at that point, so I went on with my day.

On my way to the grocery store, I called my friend Kate.  "Seriously," I said.  "I can't even read the license plate of the car in front of me."  ...pregnant pause...  "Wait," she said, "are you driving?"

In the grocery store, I could barely read the signs above the produce.  Squinting, squinting, squinting and my head was starting to pound.  My anxiety rose as I filled my basket with healthy fruits and vegetables that were destined for demise as they were repeatedly overlooked for the cookies stashed in the cupboard.

I called my husband on the way home.  "Seriously," I said.  "I can't even read the license plate of the car in front of me."  ...another pregnant pause while I question the decision to keep telling people that I'm driving when I can't see...  "Are you driving?" he asked. 

"Yes, but I'm trying to get an eye appointment and I'm getting scared because what if there's something seriously wrong with me?  What if I'm actually going blind?"

"Get home and get out of the car, genius.  You might cause, you know, an accident or something."

I went home and took some headache medicine.  I could feel the beginnings of a migraine (BRAIN TUMOR ALERT)  (ALSO, ANEURYSM).  I started Googling, which is pretty much the worst thing you can do if you have a medical problem.

Apparently, sudden blurry vision is an indication of sudden onset diabetes and you should get thee to an emergency room.  I pondered this, while my head continued pounding.

I decided to lay down for a bit and close my eyes.  I took my contacts out and put on my glasses.

My glasses that I could see perfectly well with.  Because I had been wearing my husband's contacts.

THE END.

The one where I end up in the BMW dealership in my pajamas

Good morning!  Oh, well.  It's been a little, uh, busy this morning.

My mother-in-law was staying with us this weekend in hopes that I'd go into labor, but I sorely disappointed everyone and remained very large and in charge.  Last night we decided to take our minds off that fact and go see Ocean's 13.  We went out and the car wouldn't start.  Hmmm, strange.  Figuring that maybe we just left the lights on, we took the other car.

This morning, after a fairly blissful night's sleep, I awoke to my husband going outside to meet AAA to get a jump and my mother-in-law getting ready to go the airport by 9:15.  The car still wasn't running quite right, so my husband decided it was best to drive it to the BMW dealership to get an inspection and would I please follow him?  Okay.  It's 8:15.  I can get to the dealership, make sure he makes it, and come back to pick up my MIL and make it to the airport by 9:15.  No need to put on real clothes, as I'll never even have to get out of the car.  (I think we can all see where this is headed.)

8:35 a.m. finds my husband stalled on a busy 6 lane road in downtown Phoenix, with me panicked and pulling into a gas station in the other car.  A very nice group of guys helped him push it into a bank parking lot and I pulled back around to meet him.  Call AAA again (thank god for AAA.  What do people do without them?) and ask them to tow us to the dealership.

8:40 a.m. I call my mom and wake her out of a dead sleep and ask if she can drive my MIL to the airport, so thankful that she's here to help.  She sleepily assured me that she'll take care of it.

9:15 a.m. I stumble after the tow truck driver into the fancy-ass BMW dealership, greasy hair in a half-hearted ponytail, 9 months pregnant in a NEON PINK T-SHIRT that does not completely cover my belly.  In fact, my distended, stretch mark-addled belly is quite on display.  Also, I did not wash my face last night and yesterday's mascara looked very becoming smeared beneath my eyes.  Kind of an 80's rocker/burned out raccoon look.  I highly recommend it.  The receptionist eyed me carefully, and I suspect she had one finger hovering over the speed dial button to the Phoenix Police Department, but in the end she gave me the benefit of the doubt.  She hurriedly shuffled me over to a man named Dieter, who took one look at me and kindly suggested I leave the car and he'll just call me later.  I was not their typical customer on a Monday morning, and I can't say I was a very good advertisement for the business.  Unless that business was a crazy, pregnant-crack-whore business.  Then I would have been perfect.

I think I'll take a shower now and start my day.  With a shirt that fits.  And by "a shirt" I mean "the one, single shirt."