ABOUT ME

About me: My husband Chuck, our six-year-old Junior, our three-year-old Everette and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Boom, boo, boo-hoo

After my previous post about how emotionally stable women are, I’m just going to come out and say it: I cried at work.

I don’t know why some days are harder than others. I got to spend almost a whole day with Junior yesterday thanks to a flexible schedule. We went to the park and he practiced walking while holding my hands. After watching a three-year-old slam repeatedly into one of the swings (what are little boys on?), he even mimicked the hellion by saying, "Boom!" (Actually, it was more like "boo" but I understood my little future Mensa member.)

When my mom, Linda, arrived to babysit this morning, I couldn’t wait to share the news.

“Junior learned a new word! Boom!”

Her face contorted into a weird half-smile, half-pucker, like she had painful gas but was trying to laugh through the pain.

“I…um…was…using that word when I watched him Monday. When I dropped a toy on the floor I said, ‘boom’ and he laughed. He was trying to say it but he couldn’t quite—”

“—Oh.”

“—He was trying to say it Monday but he couldn’t get it. So it’s new. Honest.”

We stood there, me holding Junior, like some kind of Midwestern showdown, without the tumbleweed or guns.

Then, Junior delivered a painful blow. He looked from me to Linda and—gasp—reached out to Linda.

She stepped back and pretended to pick lint from her shirt. Sneaky Linda. Teaching my son words and getting him to fall for her! The nerve!

I told her I had to go and handed her my cretin child. Then I got in my car and had a nice long cry. I don’t expect to be there for every one of Junior’s firsts but…but…

Sputter…sputter…

At work, the shrine I have to Junior by my desk just made it worse. Every time I looked at his fat, smiling face I got all teary and goofy. I can’t help it: I am in love.

At least the office building I work in is under construction and I can blame my blotchy face and red eyes and runny nose on asbestos particles.

And there are all those catchy stuff-envelopes-from-home jobs...right?

7 comments:

Mekhismom said...

Oh, I know how you feel. I was lucky enough to get a position where I can work from home. I thought I would never want to part from my baby-but now I welcome the time that he goes to daycare because I can accomplish stuff. It is virtually impossible for me to work with him at home.

Melissa said...

Ouch.

But at least you know that your mom loves him like you do and will do her best for him.

Dto3 said...

Hey, just be happy Junior still loves you. None of my kids care anything about me. Every morning when Mom leaves for work, my youngest starts crying for Mom. I ask if he's ready to see Ms. Maria, his teacher at school and he cries all the way to school for Ms. Maria. As soon as he sees her, he runs and gives her a big hug and snubs me. I'm little more than a Y-chromosome donor.

Jennifer said...

Bad, bad, bad, bad, BAD mommy! Not you, I'm talking about YOUR mommmy. Doesn't she know the first rule of mommy is to LIE about stuff like that? Geez! Somebody needs to go back to parenting class!!!
And no matter what, YOU are still HIS mommy. He still loves you more, no matter how often you're there or not. I promise!

Colleen said...

Awww...I know how you feel! I remember when my sitter called to tell me that my oldest cut his first tooth. I was just crushed! I knew I wasn't going to be there for every first, but that didn't make it any easier!

Practically Joe said...

I've had to watch my grandaughter's first steps via the Internett ... I got all teary-eyed.

Check out my last post about the Olympics.

My daughter says the baby asks for her bottle saying "Ba Ba" ... I secretly know she's really saying "Pa Pa".

Frogs in my formula said...

Yes! Someone needs to tell my mother to start lying more. Thanks for all the encouragement everyone. And dto3, fathers are so much more than Y chromosomes. You're the guys who kill spiders (you do kill bugs don't you)?