I shit you not - I had been working on a blog post called Bad Mother. It was all about how Harlow's face looked like it lost a fight with our cat because her nails looked like the prop double for Edward Scissorhands. And then there was the decision to take her temperature. In her ear. With the wrong thermometer. How did I know? When it suddenly slid deeper into her ear canal and Harlow started screaming bloody murder. Sunday was all about careless mistakes, crying, self-flogging, and a big thank you to the universe for her intact ear drum.
And then came Monday.
It's late. I'm beat, and right now, I don't have the reserves in me to write about truly the worst day of my life. But several of you have asked about the cast. Yes, it's the cutest, guilt-inducing accessory you've ever seen. It's already responsible for the pony in the garage. So for now, the cast. For me, painkillers.
Posts
5 comments:
Har! Did you stick a rectal thermometer into the poor child's ear? If you did, you're in for a looooong lasting line of jokes...
So THAT'S what that stuff was.
My chances of beating her in the Cooper-Young 4-miler just improved a little.
You are a great mom! That stuff sucks big hairy balls, but at least you can feel secure in the fact that at one point or another, we all get to feel like the worst mother ever. Except, the truly bad mothers apparently don't even think about it, so there's that, too.
Of course, sometimes dropping your baby down the stairs lets you feel like the worst FATHER ever. Am I right, Chip?
Post a Comment