I Win Mother of the Year, by a Hair

"Mother of the Year" has become the sarcastic phrase we modern Mommies use to describe situations in our everyday lives that would make June Cleaver cringe. To be nominated for Mother of the Year, you usually did something, or your children suffered in some way due to your unpreparedness, laziness, or general lack of observation. I've been nominated several times in my short six years of being a Mom. I've had an infant roll off the bed. I've fed them fast food twice in one day. I've gotten all the way to church only to realize that one of the kids has no shoes, or hasn't brushed their hair.

The past week brought two really big nominations for me. Everyday around 2:15pm, I tell Jax, "time to go get Sissy and Noah from school," to which he excitedly puts on his shoes, walks to the garage, hits the button to put the garage door up, and crawls in the car. This day, I was strapping the twins in their seats and I hear Jax push the button on the garage. Almost immediately, I hear the scared cry. If you are a parent, you have learned that each of your children have several cries in their repertoire. You can easily distinguish if it's a cry that needs your attention, or one that is just trying to get your attention. As soon as I heard it, I knew something was wrong. I ran around the corner to find Jax hanging from the bottom of the garage door that was parked at the top having risen up. Somehow, Jax thought it appropriate to catch the bottom of the door as it went up. There he was, not moving a muscle, hanging, crying that scared cry. I'm very thankful he didn't let go and fall back, and needless to say we had a chat about how dangerous that door is. My pep talk must have been super convincing, because the next day, he hit the button and ran over to touch the door. I don't have a cute picture of Jax hanging from the door, because I'm not really trying to win this Mother of the Year thing.

As if that wasn't enough to scare me, Thursday brought another opportunity for me to feel super. I was playing with Hudson and noticed his toes on one foot looked swollen and red. My first thought was he had gotten bit or stung by something, but upon further inspection, I saw it. A hair. You know, like a hair from your head, wrapped tightly around the base of this baby's middle three toes. It looked as if it had totally cut the circulation to one of his toes. I panicked. Unwound the hair that was impressively tight. Not only was it tight, but it has cut in enough to cause the skin to be broken and infected underneath. A hair. I almost didn't want to call the pediatrician and admit that I wasn't observant enough to notice my baby's toes about to fall off due to a hair. Michael and I took him in, and thankfully he gets to keep his toes, but he did get a prescription for an antibiotic. The nurse assured me that she's seen this before. I hope she was being truthful and not just trying to keep me from going off the deep end due to my gross lack of observation. I did take a picture of this one.

I know. Nasty.

 

Nobody feels worse about this hairy situation than I do. Now, if this had been my first child, I would have beaten myself up over it, and not that I'm any less upset about this now than I would have been with my first little one, but I've learned a lot about this Mommy thing. I'm going to mess up, a bunch. Even with the best of intentions, stuff happens. As much as I want to control every situation, I can't. All I can do is learn from my mistakes and now, always check for hair between their toes.