Mommy-hood Badges

I'm so happy to shut the door on today.

I deserve a badge for every day like today. If that were the case, I would be in possession of (at least) four girl scout sashes compleley covered with badges.

I would have a creative diaper change badge for that time I executed a one-handed poop change in the trunk of a crowded hatchback.  And then there would be a badge for not running away when 16 ounces of chunky vegetable soup flew out of my kid's mouth and nose at the dinner table. Then a badge for pumping in a nasty public restroom on the ferry while the the lady in the stall next to me bid adeiu to her mexican food dinner from the night prior. 

Nobody said motherhood was glamorous. If they did, they were probably smoking crack wrapped in thousand dollar bills (get it, cause then they would have enough money to pay for a live-in nanny...ha ha ha.....oh, nevermind).

In this mommy-fantasy of mine, when you got to four hundred badges you would have the option of trading them all in for a purple heart, handed to you ceremoniously by the President. You know, cause motherhood has so much in common with war: uncooperative dictators (toddlers), physical danger (have I ever told you about the time Jacob whacked a kid on the playground with his arm because he was waving it around, trying to shoot spider webs out of his wrist?), and blood and gore is almost on-par with chunky spit-up and liquid poop.

If badges WERE awarded, I would proudly show my sashes off in matching display cases on our living room wall. Or maybe I would wear the shashes around my neck as a reminder to buy more booze at the grocery store. "Oh, you are asking about these miss america sashes across my chest? Funny story, I earned this badge yesterday when....oh, that reminds me, I need to pick up a STRONG wine for after naptime."

Hmmm. Scratch that. Bad idea. If I wore the sashes around my neck, it would be WAY too easy to tie them together into a make-shift escape rope. Then I might be tempted to fling one end out of Jacob's window and run away to the ice cream store. And geez, that would be horrible. Cause then the apple pie in my fridge would have competition.

Enough babble, back to today. FIRST OFF.

My back is broken. Literally. This is what I get for choosing the YMCA class filled with buff looking men over the Zumba class filled with soft, white-haired women. Free standing weights are NOT my friend. I wish I could say that the most shameful part of the class was when everyone was doing these fancy sit-ups where you karate punch across your chest as you sit-up and I was just staying in the up position pretending to do all the work and dreaming of ice cream sandwiches. I even grunted for effect. I was so believeable! But no, the most shameful part was when I woke up the next morning, yesterday.

Somehow, faking sit-ups caused me to throw my back out. I got out of bed and found that my body would not bend forward without excruciating pain. Same for standing straight up. And lifting either of my legs. And turning my neck downward. I walked around all day like a zombie, limping, doubled over, and with one shoulder considerably higher than the other.

But yesterday, my husband was home to help me out. And just my luck, my back was still out when I woke up today.  That's when I knew it would be a rough one.

I discovered that it is almost impossible to carry a 12 pound infant without using back muscles. When I first tried, it was a pathetic sight. Me, hunched over and wincing in agony with as much of Ryan's body as I could fit between the crook of my arm and my body. His arms and legs flailing around in the air like a mosh pit surfer.

Then I got smart. I placed Ryan on a blanket and dragged the blanket around the house. It worked quite well. I'm so CLEVER! I should have taken a picture and posted it on Pinterest under the "DIY" category- a DIY baby carrier! The momentum of my movement only rolled him off the blanket twice, thankfully onto a carpeted surface. No harm done, he just got extra tummy time!

What I couldn't figure out was how to get him in his baby swing. When he got cranky, I held him in my arm, rocking pathetically back and forth on my knees until he dozed off. After rocking him for an excruciating 10 minutes, I tried to plop him into the swing. I thrust him forward hoping that his head would land in the right spot. Unfortunatelty, babies do not like to be tossed like fresh fish at Pike Place Market. He woke up every time and looked at me with indignation. Sorry Ryan, sometimes you do smell like a one week old halibut filet.

To top it off, Jacob decided that, today, he was an alien immigrant from a far-off world known as "Planet of Opposites." On that planet, "Jacob, eat your breakfast," roughly translates into, "Please run down the hall hissing like a feral cat." And "Brush your teeth," is "Unroll all the toilet paper and pretend to fling booger bombs at bad guys." When I told Jacob to pick up all the tonka trucks in the living room, he thought I told him to overturn the toy baskets.

"Hello time-out chair, meet Jacob. Jacob, this is time-out chair. You two will be well acquainted today."

But I quickly learned how to deal with these language translation issues.....and THAT'S how I earned my badge for "Saying the exact opposite of what you want your kid to do."

So yes, I am happy to say goodbye to today. Hopefully tomorrow will be less badge-worthy.