THIS IS HOW IT STARTS

Every now and again, we, parents, have one of "those" nights.... Those nights that test your patience... Those nights that test your skill... And those nights that tug at your heartstrings...

Last night, I had one of those nights. Yes. All of the above.

At some point in the late afternoon, I got a call from my babysitter "Ash-a-Wee" saying she had an emergency and if it was okay, she needed the evening off. This meant that she wouldn't be able to pick up Baby-Ko from day care at 4:30pm. Just to preface, day care closes at 5:30 on the dot but Ash-a-Wee picks Baby-Ko up M-F at 4:30 or earlier. She's never been a second late and he is usually the first child to leave... In fact, I'm pretty sure he gives a little "see ya suckas" wave when he closes the gate behind him, keeping his little 3 foot friends captive until their peeps come to save them... But I digress....

At 5:20 my cell rang. Shit. I was sitting in traffic and it was day care calling to let me know Baby-Ko was hysterical. I completely forgot to call them to tell them that A-A-Wee wasn't coming (I was). Bad mommy move. BAD. They told me they took him inside the house because watching the other children leave (mind you, it's 5:20pm so it's DARK out and he leaves when it's light) was making him too upset. To make matters even worse, his caretakers Margarita and Dora were leaving for the night too. OMG! Now he's sitting there with A & H (the couple that runs the day care out of their house) as he watches the people that take care of him leave???? Poor baby! He must be so scared.

Panicked and feeling so awful I finally came to a halt in front of their house at 5:40. As I ran up the porch, the front door opened and Baby-Ko came flying out.

"Mommmmmmmmy!!!" He sobbed. He couldn't catch his breath. "Ash-a-wee didn't come. I cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

Gulp.

"I'm soooooo sorry baby," I said hugging him tightly. "Mommy is here now. I'm sooooooooo sorry."

"Dora lef-a-me. I cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

OY.

"Dora went home too? Oh, Baby-Ko. I'm so sorry. These things happen. But mommy always comes back. I ALWAYS come back."

Dagger. Heart.

Clutching him, I picked up his bags and carried him to the car. How in the world can I make this better??? What can I do to let him know it's okay??? WILL HE EVER FORGIVE ME???

A light bulb, that I didn't even know was inside me, went OFF:

"Baby-Ko, do you want to go to McDonalds?" WHAT? Did I just say that?

"Yeaaaaaaaaaah, " he said sniffling. "I want fwench fwies."

"Okay, my love," I said shocked by what I had said. "Let mommy put you in the car and let's go get french fries. And cheeseburgers."

WHO AM I? For those of you that personally know me, you know that I eat fast food (not including Taco Bell... OR the requisite airport Egg McMuffin) like every blue moon. Emotional I am, yes. An eater I am, yes. An EMOTIONAL EATER: I am NOT.

But here I was. Now standing at the counter inside (a very lovely remodeled McDonald's if I do say so myself) redirecting my son from what was clearly an emotionally draining and traumatic experience to a land where feelings are forgotten because the value meals are just too good to pass up.

"One happy meal, please--"

"I crrrrrrrrrrryy," Baby-Ko said. "Mommy was late." GUILT.

"Ooh, how about some ice cream?" BRIBE.

"Yeahhhh, I want it," he said resting his head on my shoulder.

"Okay, one hot fudge sundae please...." I said to the cashier.

"I want a cookie. A COOOOOOOKIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" Baby-Ko said practically leaping out of my arms towards the cookie case on the counter.

"Okaaay. One chocolate chip cookie..." SUCKER.

"THAT cookie," Baby-Ko pointed. "DAT ONE."

The cashier smile and obliged. "Okay, that one. Anything else?"

"Um... Yeah.... I'll take a medium french fry...."

AND THERE IT WAS.

THIS IS THE REASON. THIS is how IT starts. THIS is what the "experts" are talking about. (Experts that IIIIIIIIIIIII write about!)

Seriously though, is this how obesity starts for both children and their guilt/ exhaust ridden mommies? If so, someone send me the applications now for Biggest Loser season 46. Baby-Ko and I can be a team...

24 Hours later, Baby-Ko seems to be okay from the entire experience. Me on the other hand... I'm still feeling the trauma of it all.... ANNNNNNND trying to tell myself that at the very least, giving him BROCCOLI with his happy meal was one way to make IT stop....

EVERYONE'S ANGRY

Thanks to another informative and entertaining episode of Sesame Street, Baby-Ko's word of the week (not to be confused with Murray's "Word on the Street") is "ANGRY...." (pronounced: "ANGA-REE.") There's a segment with Cuba Gooding Jr. talking about the word "angry" -- only, every time he refers to the word "angry," the word "angry" keeps running off screen, causing Cuba to get increasingly, you guessed it: ANGRY! "Really, really angry!"

I'm pretty sure that up until now, this fine piece of media was the only time Baby-Ko heard this word and saw what it meant (at the same time). But obviously, it stuck. In fact, it's now one of his favorites and every day we have a little conversation that goes like this:

Me: "Did you have fun at day care?"

B-Ko: "Yeah."

Me: "I'm so happy to hear that. What did you do?"

B-Ko: "I push a baby."

Me: "You pushed a baby? Oh no. That's not nice."

B-Ko: "Yeah, baby fell down. Baby cryyyyy."

Me: "The baby cried???"

B-Ko: "Yeah, baby so ANGA-REE."

Later... (bath-time)....

Me: "Baby-Ko, please stop splashing the water. The water needs to stay in the tub."

B-Ko: "No! I want to splash!" WHOOSH.

Me: (Taking a deep breath) "I asked you to stop. Why are you splashing?"

B-Ko: "Cuz... cuz... I so ANGA-REE."

Me: "Why are you so angry?"

B-Ko: "Cuz... cuz... Baby fell down. Baby cryyyyy."

Me: "The baby cried??"

B-Ko: "Yeah, baby so ANGA-REE."

You're probably wondering what said baby has to do with my now sopping wet leggings... But I encourage you to indulge me for a moment while I take this opportunity to brag and point out how brilliant I think the association is. Sure, it's off, and there wasn't an actual baby falling in my tub when I asked Baby-Ko to stop splashing. Sure, my son maaaay have at some point pushed a small child down resulting in tears and a conversation that is a little groundhog day-ish. BUT, he obviously now knows that there are many things that can cause anger (even if HE is the actual anger-causer) and for THAT, I'm extraordinarily proud of this development. (Go with it.)

Eventually I will break the news to him that he can be upset and feel whatever he wants without another child getting injured (and certainly without talking about another child getting injured). But for now, I quite enjoy our little discussions.... If not for any reason other than it sounds pretty cute to hear him say "Anga-ree."

In other kinda-sorta related news, a new study out of London says that families spend, on average, 15 minutes a day FIGHTING. The cause: Moms. Yep. Your mama. Click HERE to read... It will probably make you pretty ANGA-REE....

MOM JEANS

"You Can't Come in 'cause you old as shit.... 

Not in the general sense, 'cause I'd tear that ass up, 

but for this club..." -- Knocked Up

32 isn't old. I realize that. I know I have another 8 plus years of good solid uterus/baby making time and thanks to some decent genetics, even longer before my wrinkles become noticeable. That said, there are days, like today, when I feel old. When I stop myself and feel, well, "old as shit."  

One of the best/craziest things about sending Baby-Ko to a day care that a) I went to 30 years ago and b) that my friends send their kids to as well, is that:  a) I went there THIR. TY. YEARS. AGO. and that, b) my friends send THEIR KIDS there! My friends have kids? Since when??? Walking in to day care and seeing the son of a girlfriend who I literally had cocktails with last week, sort of grounds me... well, floors me really. (I'm pretty sure we were just talking about which is like, OMG, the hottest guy and like, what she was wearing to "the popular girls" party").

On top of it, I  just hired an afternoon helper/ nanny to pick Baby-Ko up from Day Care on long work days... Her name is AC and she's a sweet girl. And I can say "girl" because, well, I think I could technically be her mom. She's 19 years old and darling. So sweet, so responsible, and soooooo young. But when we went to go pick Baby-Ko up from Day Care (in her car, as she sort of "shadows" me), and "Boom Boom Pow" by the Black Eyed Peas came on, it took everything I had in me not to shout, "Like, OMG. I love this song. Let's blast it." Instead, I quietly hummed and discreetly bopped my booty on the seat.  

As I held back my urge to tell her that my mom was, like, being such a bitch and I'm, like, soo not going to class today (mommy and me class, that is), I wondered when I will officially be old.  A few months ago, my potential for all things Yenta reared it's ugly head during a staff meeting. But I have since felt young and lively. I haven't worried about my age or where I'm going and what I'm doing in a while.... But sitting next to AC, and forgetting that we are nearly 14 years apart, I wondered when it all might catch up with me.... When I will have no choice but to hand over my skinny jeans (which she and I were both wearing) and shop at Talbots instead of Brass Plum.... When I will stop knowing (and caring) who's who and listening to Ryan fucking Seacrest...   When will I grow up?  

I'm certainly in no rush to cross the mom jean threshold and cut off all my hair. In fact, I love being a young mom and feeling sometimes that I actually have no business being one yet. It's kind of empowering, kind of surreal, and definitely, like... way cool. In many ways, "I've got it all going on" right now... The prime of my life really. I mean, AC may look like a cast member of The Hills and get past the velvet ropes at H-Wood faster than I can say "No Nitrate Hot Dogs," but, can she recite her favorite Sesame Street scenes and get IN DA CLUB .... I think not....

IT'S ALL RELATIVE

Well, it's only Monday but I feel like there's already a few things that are post worthy... or not. You be the judge.
Let's see....
1) I got my first "Your Son is Sick" call from Day Care today. Around 4pm my cell phone rang and one of the teachers at Baby-Ko's day care told me that he felt warm and when she took his temperature, it was about 100. I quickly grabbed my stuff, told my coworkers the situation, and ran out the door to save my son. Okay, maybe he didn't need saving, but I felt like I needed to be there as fast as I could for him. It was a textbook case of new/working mom/baby's sick.  I have officially joined "the club." For reals though.

2) Due to Baby-Ko suffering from a cold, or molars coming in, or a reaction to his vaccinations, or all of the above, we're going to keep him home from day care. Of course, this is kind of problematic since we don't have alternative day care lined up. Fortunately, my Nana has offered to come and spend the day with Baby-Ko.  We've decided to dub her as Nana Poppins. The best part of having her here is that we can watch Dancing with the Stars together. She thinks Cloris Leachman looks "marvelous." I think Brooke Burke looks "ridic."  I guess it's all relative...

3) Last night, as I got in to bed, I realized it had been a long time since I had fallen asleep on T-Ko's chest. I used to be able to pass out, drool, and sleep like a log on his chest. Lately, though bed time is all business. But last night, I went for the chest and found the perfect position almost immediately. Just as I started to drift off, T-Ko said, "You know, when you were pregnant, you weren't able to do this."

"Huh, why?" I said.

"Because of the smell..." He had showered before we got into bed. "I used this soap once when you were pregnant and I got out of the shower and you freaked out and told me that it was the worst most, perfumey, soapy scent EVER.  You told me that I smelled like Borat at a night club and you were having an allergic reaction to the smell."

"I probably was. My nose was super sensitive when I was pregnant. Seriously."

"''Throw it away. Immediately,' you told me," he said mimicking me.

"And did you?" I asked.

"Nooo.  I kept the soap."

"You kept the soap???"

"Yeah, i kept the soap. You were pregnant. Hormonal. Nuts. I kept the soap. And tonight, I ran out of soap, and guess what I used--"

Silence. I take a deep breath. Oh, no. The soap. I seriously smell the soap.

"Oh my god, it's horrible. I can't believe you used the soap."

"You would have NEVER noticed if I hadn't said anything," he said.

"Yeah, but now I notice and now I can't even breath. You do smell like Borat. I feel like I'm in a department store with bad perfume. Oh my god, it's the worst smell ever," I say rolling over to the other side.

"You really are crazy," T-Ko said.

"You really smell."

"Good night. Love you."

"Love you too. Please throw out the soap," I say dozing off... and realizing that we really did run out of soap, and now I  too will smell like homeless gypsy. Crap.