Laughing at Myself

Some people are born for greatness- it seems everything they touch turns to gold or great success.  Others are born with great talents that we admire with amazement.  I however was born with an innate ability to get in ridiculous, awkward situations.  More than once (or ok… more than probably 10 times) I have acquired bizarre injuries from things such as empty cardboard boxes, plastic water pitchers, or my own fingernail (and once from someone else’s fingernail). 

It has been a family joke most of my life, that if some ridiculous injury happens or situation arises, guarantee I am involved in it.  Because of this, I learned early on that there were only two ways to cope.  I could have a total meltdown, cry, and feel sorry for myself, or simply learn to laugh at myself and the situations I found myself in.  Now, I will certainly admit that from time to time “total meltdown” was the choice I made (sometimes still make), but in most situations, I have learned to simply laugh at myself. 

I wish I could tell you that I had mostly outgrown this “special ability” but, nope, not in the least.  I have actually found that as a mom, somedays it seems to plague me even more.  There are days where I feel like I MIGHT potentially be the mom version of Wonder Woman… we actually are all clean, dressed, fed, get a nap, and possibly even show up someplace ON TIME.  Then there are days like yesterday…

With a little bit of laughter we are all surviving my "Mom Game"

Due to a minor complication I had with (b)’s birth, I have to run to the next town south every Monday for bloodwork.  It really is pretty simple- I can show up any time of the day I would like, and I am only in the building about 5 minutes from the time I walk in until I walk back out.  (A) is back at work and I did not want to bother him and I was feeling a little like it might be a Wonder Woman Mom day, so I just decided to take both boys with me.  The drive is about 25 mins from our house, and when I arrived at the doctor’s office I looked in the rearview mirror to discover both of them were sound asleep.  I’m currently not cleared to carry any more weight than the baby, so carrying (a) is COMPLETELY out of the question and I have to take (b) out of his car seat because I can’t handle the weight of him and the seat.  I spent over 10 minutes trying to wake (a) for the 5 minute procedure and by waking (b) he decided he was hungry.  My visions of the Wonder Woman suit were quickly fading to reveal my purple v-neck tee and denim capris.  As usual, I was only in the building a few minutes (though it was more like 7 minutes this week because everyone wanted to see the baby).  When we got back out to the car I decided it would save a lot of tears if I just hopped in the back seat and fed the baby before we took off.  It was only 72 degrees outside and had a nice breeze, so instead of starting the car I just rolled all the windows down a couple inches to let the air flow through.  I climbed in the backseat, shut the door, and snuggled up with the (b) for him to eat.  He finished in about 15 minutes, I buckled him into his baby seat, (a) was enjoying more of his nap, and once again I was starting to feel like a great success… until I tried to open the door.  It wouldn’t open.  No problem, I will just flip the lock and climb out.  Still didn’t open.  At that point it hit me… several months ago (a) was discovering his independence, and I turned the “child locks” on both doors in the backseat for his safety.  You know… those child locks where it is impossible to open the door from the inside, it can only be opened from the outside.  This wouldn’t have been a huge deal if there had been another adult along, or if it was a busy parking lot where I could have yelled out the cracked window for a passerby.  But… it was not a busy parking lot, I was by myself, and I was not in our town where I could have easily called (A), nor did I have my phone with me in the backseat.  Also, when I mentioned my denim capri pants early I failed to say they were REAL pants… not maternity pants, not yoga pants, but bonafied button/zipper denim capris… 3 weeks post c-section.  I’m still not exactly in acrobat shape… especially in real pants.  Cue panic… I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do and our bright eyed little (b) was watching me with a big grin on his face.  At 3 weeks old, it was like he already knew of his mom’s reputation for the ridiculous/awkward.  After several minutes and failed attempts, I finally managed to rearrange (b)’s seat so that I could (very UNgracefully) wiggle and climb and flop through the small console cut out and into the front passenger seat of my car.  As I let myself out and returned to the back seat to secure the baby seat back in place, I made sure to turn OFF the child lock on that side and realized I was laughing out loud.  There was no one else who saw me, (a) was asleep so he wouldn’t tell, and thankfully (b) can’t talk yet, but I couldn’t help but keep laughing as I realized how incredibly ridiculous I must have looked and how I’m sure there is NO ONE else I know who could have gotten themselves in such a silly situation. 

As I told someone the other day, it is a good thing that awesome concealer, a great pair of Spanx, and a face filled with JOY cover a multitude of flaws in my mom-game.  I may not have the Wonder Woman Mom suit, but that’s ok, I don’t think I could laugh as much at her as I get to laugh at ME.

“Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy.  Then it was said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.”” Psalm 126:2