Since the topics on my blog have been pretty heavy lately, I thought a little comic relief was in order. So I've pulled an old story out of the vault to share with you. In fact I'll probably be pulling a few of them out over the coming weeks. Each one holds a special place in my heart as it reminds me of precious days gone by. Hope you enjoy them them! Here's the first in the series, written when our first child was still a baby and I was still a new mom:
Bad Day Blues
I had one of those days the other day. You know what I'm talking about. It's the kind that, when you tell your husband about it, you laugh so hard you cry -- except that you really feel like crying. And he jokingly says perhaps he shouldn't leave you alone with the baby -- except there's an underlying hint of sincerity in his voice.
Actually, the day began as uneventful as usual. In fact, I don't even remember what happened that morning. But as the warm spring air drifted in through the opened windows early that afternoon I felt a sense of exhilaration. Something was going to happen today.
It all started with a harmless game of chase with my 15 month-old son. Normally we have gates up to keep him out of non-child-proofed rooms, but occasionally I let down the gates and let him explore the uncharted territories of Mommy's and Daddy's bedroom, the office and bathrooms. On this particular day I had just changed one of those mammoth dirty diapers -- the kind that makes you wish God had only given you four senses. You then rack your brain, asking, "What did I feed him for lunch today?" swearing you'll never give him that again! After this particularly large, unusually pungent poopie, Zachary must have felt some odd sense of elation. He ran from the nursery with that look in his eyes, daring me to catch him. And we were off!
He was around the first curve in a flash and made a beeline for our bedroom at the other end of the hall. I was thinking to myself that I would boost his confidence by giving him a measurable lead when I realized I was running as fast as I could and he was still well ahead of me. Then just as I was marveling at the grace with which he accomplished this feat, he stumbled -- and crashed face-down on the corner of the window sill (this particular window goes to the floor). From the loud CRACK! I thought for certain he had broken something, if not the window sill itself. And from the 5 seconds of silence that followed I knew he was in pain. NOTE: There are always 5 seconds of silence that follow any real injury as he draws in a breath so huge you think he's going to suck the carpet off the floor. The silence is followed, of course, by a wail that rattles the windows and threatens to send the nosy neighbor rushing to call the police.
I picked him up off the floor and tried to console him while I took inventory. Two eyes, still intact. Nose, not bleeding. Teeth, not poking through lips. Gums, not bleeding. Head, no apparent fractures or contusions. ("Emergency" used to be one of my favorite t.v. shows!) By the time I got him back to his changing table to get a better look, however, the shiner had already started to appear. Great! Now the nosy neighbor will know for sure I'm beating him!
After I got Zachary calmed down -- and after the blood rushed back to my head -- I thought for sure that we had filled our quota for the day, but I guess we were a little short on the quota bill.
An hour or so later my spirits lifted however, as I realized nap time was nearing! It's that sacred, holy time of the day when Mommy gets to do anything she wants as long as she can do it without leaving the house and as long as it doesn't make too much noise.
This was the perfect opportunity to relax out on the front porch, enjoy the wonderful warm spring weather and perhaps devote some time to my writing. In preparation, I turned on the baby monitor, opened the window and placed it on the sill outside. Then I pulled the window back down to keep our cats, Psycho and Scooter, from doing some exploring of their own. I grabbed the cordless phone, my notebook and pen, a glass of water and a lawn chair. My pulse was fairly racing in anticipation!
As I opened the front door I noticed a gray tabby on the front porch. "I don't remember seeing a cat like that around here before. . ." I mused to myself. "Gee, that cat looks just like Scooter." Duh! Then it hit me. That cat didn't LOOK like Scooter, it WAS Scooter! Somehow she had managed to slither out from under the opened window where I had placed the monitor. Fortunately for me, her curiosity had been satisfied and she was willing to come back inside. In my relief at catching her so easily I scooped her up and shoved her back under the same window from which she'd escaped. It was only after she was safely back inside that I realized I could have lifted the window a little so she didn't have to flatten out again to get back in . . . .
Relieved that the second -- and hopefully last -- catastrophe was over, I settled into my lawn chair and drew in a deep breath of fresh air. There was a slight breeze blowing and the birds were singing happily. It would have been perfect had Zachary gone right to sleep. But I could tell by his cry he wasn't a happy camper, and not a sleepy one either. I turned the monitor down so the neighbors wouldn't think I was torturing my son -- and so I could enjoy the otherwise beautiful moment.
A few minutes later my friend, Wanda, called. After we'd been on the phone a while, I noticed that Zachary's cry had become more intense. It had a ring of urgency to it. I went inside to check on him, still talking to Wanda. I opened the nursery door to see a familiar sight: Zachary was lying on his stomach with both legs poking out of the crib between the railings. I chuckled a bit as I described the picture to Wanda. After all, this happens quite often. But this time was different. It was warm in his room and his legs had expanded just enough to wedge them between the railings like the proverbial cork in a bottle. I tried to push his legs through the railings. They wouldn't budge. I tried lifting him by his arms. His cries intensified. I tried pulling his legs from the other side. Nothing. By now I was starting to sweat. I had this picture in my mind of having to call 911 . . . "Uh, yes. My son is stuck in his. . .crib. . .?" Then of course they would either laugh and hang up or they would actually come to rescue him. At the moment I didn't know which would be worse.
Then, like a beacon in the night it came to me. Lucy and Ethel. Yes! What would Lucille Ball do in a situation like this? (It seemed a logical question at the time.)
I asked Wanda to hold on as the answer materialized: Vaseline! I located the slimy goo and applied it liberally to his fat little legs. Voila! He was freed, and I didn't have to call 911! Thank you, Lord!
I'd only had enough time to stop shaking and fully regain my composure when my husband drove up. The picture came to mind: a fire truck, an ambulance, bull horns blaring, lights flashing, nosy neighbors gathering nosily around -- and Joel coming home from work right on cue. I had to smile.
To him, this was an ordinary Friday. A day just like any other. No emergencies. No cold sweats. No frantic searches for cuts and bruises. His pulse had probably beat steadily all day without so much as a minor fluctuation . . . . Until he heard the account of my day, anyway!
I began by telling him it had been one of those days; he responded with an urgent demand to know one thing: Was Zachary all right? Again, I had to smile. I assured him he was fine -- except for the black eye.
As I began to fill him in on the details of our afternoon I laughed until I cried and he joked that perhaps he shouldn't leave me alone with the baby . . . .
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Copyright © 1996 Mary Comm. All rights reserved worldwide.
Posted by at May 22, 2004 01:45 PM