Right Now, I’m Not Doing So Hot

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Guilt sucks. The emotion of guilt should be drug out into the street and shot. And people who make you feel guilty when you already feel like crap, those people, should be punched in the nose.

But what do you do when those people are people that you love?

When your daughter falls down at a BBQ and scrapes up her knees and elbows? When she takes a tumble an hour later and skins her forehead a bit? Do you blame yourself for not being there every, single second? Or do you chalk it up to being a child?

I personally, blame childhood, low balance capability, and the giant beachball she insisted on carrying around all day (throws off the balance when you’re under two feet tall). But some people blamed me. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t careful enough. I should have taken her home hours earlier as she was obviously tired and needed to rest. And even though I’m the one who is with her, alone, 85% percent of the time, it can’t be that things are just going to happen when I’m there. Oh no, it seems I will always be the one to blame.

This should be something I can shake off. Move on. Screw ’em, I’m a great mother. But right now, I simultaneously want to punch someone in the face and cry alone in my bed. I make mistakes, yes, it’s true. But I also think that kids hurt themselves. It’s part of life, a very important part that needs to occur in order for kids to learn. She’s gonna fall, she’s gonna bleed, she’s gonna cry. That’s life.

Right? Or am I just the shittiest parent there ever was. Because right now, I can’t decide.

Juggling

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Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m being torn in half. Being a working parent is always hard, but with Lu starting preschool last week and my insane work schedule, I’ve been punched in the gut with massive amounts of guilt. I don’t see her all day, then I pick her up from the new school, run her across the street to her godparents’ house, and run back out the door to an event for work. If I skip the work event, then I’m stuck explaining to my boss why I wasn’t there or why I didn’t meet that vice president that was to attend. Trust me, not fun. I know that it’s not a normal schedule, and that things will slow down in a few weeks in terms of late night events, but what do I do now? How do I explain to Lu that I really do have to leave her (again) and that I promise we’ll have mama-Lucy time tomorrow? How do I say that to her, when I myself am thinking, “But I want my Lucy time nooowwww!”

The great thing about the web is it has so many stories to prove you’re not alone in anything you do. I’ve read story after story from women in the same position I’m in, and each one gives me hope that I’m not royally screwing up my child for life. This link is to a CNN story where several of the top CNN reporters talk about their balance as working moms, and their own guilt over the choices they’ve made. Hey, if Soledad O’Brian can do it with four kids and amazing hair, then so can I!

Hating Kansas

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This is my hometown, about 3 hours from where I live now. My dad lives there. My husband’s parents live there. My Not-Pregnant Friend Abbie lives there with her husband and new baby. Many, many of my friends’ families live there.

As far as I know, everyone is OK, but Jesus, this is scary. It damaged many buildings on campus, where my dad lives, and dozens of homes were damaged and/or destroyed. Businesses were crushed. When you grow up in the midwest, you aren’t too afraid of big storms or tornadoes because they happen all the time and usually don’t hurt anyone or anything. But when it does, it shakes your whole self to the core.

[Thanks to Inger for sending me the video link]

Home

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We’re back in KC. And the NYC plus the dirty Jerz really took us for a trip! Lu is sick, Trent is a grump and I am just plain exhausted. But it was totally worth it as the wedding was phenomenal and I got to spend the weekend with the lovely Scott and Erin. And yes, Scott is very lovely. And fairly furry, just like his baby brother.

I’ll post some pictures after I have 8 or 80 hours of sleep. Until then, just revel in the fact that I was able to cross two items off my 100 Things list. Yay me! And also, yay alcohol, apparently.

47. Drink wine in Central Park
92. Drink a fancy cocktail on the roof of an apartment building in NYC – OK, so it was champagne. And, technically, it was the roof of a church. But it still counts. Because I make the rules around here!

The One With the Rash Story

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This weekend I had several fun ideas on how I would celebrate Mother’s Day. There was one idea in particular that made me so excited I thought my face would freeze due to excessive amounts of smiling. I had booked a massage appointment.

For me. Not for my husband (although he ended up with one as well). Not a gift for someone else. Me, me, me!

I couldn’t believe how cheap massages were in my hometown. Even though I live in a cottage that looks like it may crumble to the groud and be devoured by ants, I technically live in a fairly wealthy part of Kansas City, so massages are always pretty pricey. When I called for pricing in my hometown I almost fell out of my chair. And then I booked my appointment. A lovely hour massage. Oh, and as a special Mother’s Day treat, rose petals would be “incorporated” into the massage. “Incorporated” apparently means a last minute trip to the grocery store, buying a cheap bouquet of red roses, ripping the petals off and throwing them on the massage table. Mmmmm…relaxing.

Until the evening after the massage when I felt a bit, well, uncomfortable. Itchy. So I scratched. A few spots on my upper left arm, no big deal. Until I looked twenty minutes later and my entire upper arm was covered in hives. Well, that’s not good, is it? I figured I probably had a spring allergy attack or something, took some Benadryl and moved on with my life.

But then the next day the itchies were back. This time on my other arm. Strange, I thought. When I got back to KC, I decided to take a nice, warm shower and wash off whatever was making me so itchy. I figured maybe it was the massage lotion, as that was the only product that I’d use different from my normal routine. I’d just wash it off and take my tired butt to bed. In the shower I scratched my upper legs a bit, then felt the burning. Like my legs were on fire. I quickly turned off the shower and jumped out. I ran into the dining room stark naked and yelled for Trent. “Oh my god! My legs are burning! My back! My stomach!”

Trent walked into the room, took one look at me and his face dropped. My entire body was covered in hives. My legs were swollen up about an inch where I was scratching them, and the rest of me was red and bumpy as well. My skin felt like it was being burned off. Trent covered me in Benadryl cream and threw me out on the back porch into the cold air, while he shielded my naked butt from the neighbors. As the cool air hit my skin, I began to calm down. The burning subsided and I stopped panicking. Then Trent did what any good husband would do. Got me a giant glass of wine.

Turns out I had a reaction to the chemicals used to keep those lovely red roses looking fresh. Basically, I had an allergic reaction combined with a chemical burn. As long as I don’t touch my body when it itches or take showers, I feel fine. But I smell of Benadryl cream and two days of not showering. Happy Mother’s Day to me! Next year, I’m asking for a pony instead.

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