Yes, I am burnt out on searching for title-related music, why do you ask?
As it turns out, I’ve got a sinus infection, and I’m on the first antibiotic I’ve been on in … decades, I think? I am not particularly hippie-ish about medicine — I mean, I take two big pharma-esque pills a day, and will likely do so for the rest of my life — but you, too, might be squirrelly about antibiotics if you had adolescent bladder infections that rendered you immune to every single one except the ones that cause hallucinations (but conveniently, cure anthrax!). And – AND! – knowing one too many people infected with (OMFG) C diff after antibiotics which causes the MOST unsavory symptoms of anything I have ever dreamed of and I’m terrified of … OMFG HA HA, WHY AM I TALKING ABOUT THIS?
I forget sometimes, like in situations like last week, what a good kid Sam is. I know it will change, and that she’ll eventually (SOON) be punky and Freshy VonFresherson (though she’ll still be a good kid), but for now, she is rarely fresh or willfully defiant, she shares nicely and loves her friends, and hell, I just love the spit out of my sweet girl. There are lots and lots of hugs and kisses – initiated by her — and she’ll hug anyone who asks, and plenty who don’t, sometimes to the surprise of others. Before bedtime, I tell her to “get your lips ready!” and she pouts like Angelina Jolie posing for photographers as she swoops in to kiss everyone in the room.
She’s gentle and kind to plants and animals, has a great sense of humor (I mean, for a two-year-old, let’s be realistic here, it’s not like she’s quoting Seinfeld) and … oh, man. I love her. I say this not to brag, because I recognize that these are things we ALL think about our kids, but it’s more to remind myself, and her, someday, that she’s a great kid whose current failings are purely the circumstance of her age and lapses on my part, not hers. I don’t want her to ever read this and think, wow, my mom thought I was a total pain in the ass. Because oh hell no, kid. You’re fucking awesome.
And hey, do y’all remember the disco kitty shirt? Well, more proof that while my girl might be amazing, personality-wise, she, um, SORELY LACKS in the taste department, and I promise you, I had nothing to do with her latest attachment:
Yes, that’s a boa-wrapped hot-pink fur notebook with a POODLE on it that Adam won her at a corporate outing at — oh, I can barely type it — Dave and Buster’s. “Pink doggie come? Pink notebook? WITHA PEN?” UGH, FINE KID. Here’s your hideous notebook.
In other news, I’m currently interviewing sitters for some (VERY) part-time help while I get some work done and also, uhhh, have my fertility appointments and other sundry items taken care of. Like my HSG which, for the uninitiated, is that test where they shoot dye into your tubes ‘n utes and view all your lady parts via ultrasound to make sure they’re smooth and shiny, and NO ONE, I assure you, wants a two-year-old in that situation. Or you know, at the dentist. Or while trying to conduct a client call with a modicum of professionalism.
What kills me, however, is how stupidly guilty I feel about the whole thing. As though I’m putting her in HARM’S WAY by allowing someone other than me (or Adam or my parents or siblings) to care for her. God, it’s so ABSURD. I don’t feel this way about other people — quite the opposite, in fact — and logically, I KNOW that this is NORMAL and GOOD FOR HER and GOOD FOR ME (and our bank account! And my teeth! And my … uterus?), but there I am, all Cringey McCringerson about having a perfectly capable, kind human being feed my child lunch and put her down for a nap. As though because I am paying them, rather than squeezing their familial obligation out of their pores, that they will somehow fail in an immeasurable, damaging way.
This is one of those cases — like, say, breastfeeding, at least for me — where my emotions cloud my actual, logical judgment of the situation at hand. I was all, I MUST BREASTFEED OR THE WORLD WILL END. And yet, if other people formula fed, I did not assume the world would end, and in fact, admired them for making a totally reasonable choice that worked best for them. Kind of like how I always assume MY plane will crash, although I willingly allow my loved ones to fly without a care in the world. IT IS SO ABSURD. She’s TWO. I CAN GO TO THE DENTIST. PEOPLE PUT THEIR KIDS IN DAYCARE. AND IT WORKS GREAT. GET OVER YOURSELF, JONNA.
What I DO find a little strange, however, is the number of applicants who want to … bring their own child along? Is that strange to anyone else? I feel like I can disassociate the emotional factor from this one enough to suss out the feeling that, a) it would be kind of disruptive to Sam to not only have a new person to get used to, but a new person and their kid? And navigating that dynamic of mother/child and then poor Sam? It’s one thing to leave her at my friends’ house with their kids, but she KNOWS all of them and … and I just … well, is it me?
(It might be.)
(But I still don’t think I’m going to hire anyone who does.)
Hey, have a happy Thursday! Woo!
37 comments June 15th, 2011