In my repeated attempts to bond with my 3-year-old son, I have tried various strategies. Some include: reading together, cooking together, writing together, asking him 1000 questions that he has no interest in answering, taking him to eat ice cream, hugging, tickling, smiling, telling him how handsome he is, etc. My attempts at bonding are not because we have a poor relationship. These attempts are in hopes that an increased bond will serve to limit poor behavior. It seems that Eamon is having some real difficulty behaving at home. I know. I know. He has been replaced. He is a sensitive Mama's boy who has to stand by and watch as I nurse, snuggle, and sing the praises of Trumie D. I know. That still does not excuse acting like a complete tyrant in my home.
My most recent idea was hatched in order to kill two birds with one stone: Prepare Eamon to be dropped off at school 5 afternoons per week AND enjoy an experience together. So, why not stop at the flower shop, pick some gorgeous flowers for his new classroom, and chat lovingly about the beauty of flowers? Perfect, right? Nope. Thus far, this post has been about my cherubic, but hateful 3-year-old. Now, I will switch gears and give absolute proof that I should have had to get a license prior to bearing children.
As if being left in the car (hypoglycemia, remember?) wasn't bad enough, it turns out my inability to work the stroller/car seat combo has also placed poor Truman in danger. So back to my story. My cherubic, yet angry Eamon is yet again fussing about having to get out of the backseat of my mini-van while I try to remove Truman's seat and click it into the matching stroller. While trying to click the stroller, I am coercing Eamon out of the back seat with promises of beautiful roses and sunflowers that would be a perfect addition to his new class, which was scheduled to begin the next day. I confidently place the infant carrier into the stroller, take my older son by the hand and fight my way in the door, as I always do when pushing a stroller (that looks cool but ultimately sucks). The first room you enter in this particular flower shop houses the check out area and very little else. Customers must walk down a very short ramp (probably a former step) to get to an area filled with bucket after bucket of lovely, fresh flowers of all kinds. As I head down this brief ramp with Eamon in tow, the infant seat detaches from my sucky stroller, does a 180 in the air and lands FACE DOWN with my 6-month-old suspended by his 5-point restraint. My brain apparently needed a moment to catch up because it took me longer than it should have to realize what the hell had just happened. And to react. After processing the gravity of the situation, I uttered, "OH MY GOD" and lunged to pick up my darling son who was quietly whimpering, his nap having come to an abrupt end. I calmly MADE SURE to click him properly back into his stroller and placed my hand gently on his chest and belly, speaking to him softly. I stayed calm. Eamon gave the play by play, "Mommy made Trumie's seat flip over and then Trumie was on his face and then he cried and Mommy picked him up." As if I wasn't aware of what an idiot I must look like, even Eamon was amazed that I could do something so horrible, endangering a defenseless baby.
I stayed calm. I removed Truman from his carrier and held him tight, speaking ever so softly to him. He stayed calm. I looked at him and tried my best not to burst into guilty, scared, embarrassed, horrified tears. I took deep breaths. I tried not to look into the eyes of judgement all around me. Finally, the store owner approached me to make sure that we were all ok. It was all I could do to hold it together, but I did. I did. I assisted Eamon in picking out the perfect white carnations and pink-tipped roses to share with his class; we paid and were on our way.
That is until the owner insisted on getting the door for me and "walking me to the car." She then proceeded to say, "I need to tell you something; you ARE a good mom, I can tell that you work hard. YOU ARE a good mom." Uh, ok. My first thought was, "Do you honestly think I don't know that?" My overt response was, "You're very sweet. Thank you." But she kept it up, "Just know that you are a good mom." My second response, "Thanks, I have four children and they have all lived." Ok, thanks for the patronizing comments, please leave me the hell alone. I know that seems really rude of me to think that way. I know she was trying to make me feel better. I know she was trying to be nice. I know that she felt badly because everyone else in the flower shop thought that I was a total moron. The fact is, I don't care what anyone in that store thought about me or my very obvious lapse in judgement. I will not pretend that my life looks like it does on Instagram. Sometimes things happen that I am embarrassed about. Sometimes I make poor decisions. I screw stuff up ALL THE TIME. I just happen to always be doing it in front of people. And I think it makes people feel better about themselves to know that they aren't the only ones who flounder. At least, I hope it does.
As for Truman, he is no worse for wear and has no idea that he flipped around as though on a roller coaster and could have been seriously injured. Eamon told everyone we saw about this incident for the rest of the day, and I cried on the phone to Jason about how I might really irreparably damage our son. And then I thought I might blame Britax for making a sucky stroller (but I didn't). And then I told the story 10 times and have been laughing my ass off, knowing that I really am trying my best to make all this work.
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