I could not start this post with anything other than:
My poor, sweet, patient, long-suffering husband.
The emotional roller-coaster of pregnancy. It has started.
I remember last time when I was pregnant with OBaby, my once-a-day cries were sometimes (ok often) for no reason and were almost predictable. The last few weeks you could set your watch by them. It would be 9:00 something, we would just be entertaining the idea of getting in bed nice and early when WHAM a Kay Jewelers commercial would come on. Or I’d remember that one time in grade school that my sweet 4th grade teacher told me that I was a wonderful writer…
and suddenly I’d be a puddle on the floor. Pretty much 9:30 on the dot for the entire 3rd trimester.
DanO handled it so well. That ‘deer in the headlights, O Lordy my wife is crying again’ look was all but gone from his face after the fist few episodes. I’m so thankful for him.
The puddling with little-to-no-warning has begun this time around, and DanO is as supportive as ever (and this time he’s not once looked at me like I’m crazy). Sometimes it’s a heart-warming news story, sometimes it’s a sweet kiss from my baby, and sometimes it’s that my chai tea was microwaved EXACTLY to to the right temperature.
Life, man. It’s just. so… beautiful. ::sniffle::
Except sometimes it’s not the beautiful that makes me sob uncontrollably. Sometimes it’s the mean and ugly. Or sometimes it’s me being stupid. Like on Monday.
Monday the 6th of December was a wonderful day to go to the largest mall in America, which just happens to be a mere 25 minute drive from This O House. I carpooled down with a friend and her little boy, and we moseyed our way through the mall with our boys in her double stroller (O My Core Strength, friends. Those things are a beast to maneuver). One of our first stops was the Nordstrom bathroom because a) someone whose nickname starts with O and ends with Baby dirtied his diaper mere seconds before we got in the car to leave (isn’t that always how it goes?!) and b) Nordstrom has itself some swanky-tastic bathroom facilities. Like, 3 separate rooms – one with couches for lounging, one off to the side with chairs and a diaper changer – which I assume is the ‘mothers’ room’, and then the actual “facilities”. It’s pretty snazzy.
So my friend and I are doing the public restroom toddler diaper change shuffle (which is actually a lot more full contact than you would think) in the mothers’ room, when in walks a woman looking a bit confused. She walks along the wall until she comes to a dead end.
Lady: “Huh. Is this a bathroom?”
Me: “O, yea they are back out there and through the door to your left.”
Lady: “O, ok. Good.”
Me: “Well, unless you need a diaper change, then that’s in here.”
Funny joke, right? Gosh, I’m so witty.
The moment it escaped from my mouth I wanted to fall on the floor and die absolutely DEAD.
The woman was… older.
I assure you that had absolutely nothing to do with why I said it, in fact I surely WOULDN’T have said it if I’d registered her age – it was just that the only ‘bathroom’ facilities in the room where we were standing was a diaper changer – and I didn’t even realize the possible connotation until after I said it. A very painful millisecond after I said it.
Thankfully we all laughed, I prayed that no one thought I had implied what I hadn’t intended to imply, and she went on her way to the actual restrooms. I shrugged it off really well; I didn’t even admit my inner humiliation to my friend…maybe no one noticed that I just made a diaper joke to a woman with beautiful silver hair…
Until I got home. Then? O boy did I cry.
How could I be so stupid? Why don’t I just THINK first? I probably broke that woman’s heart. I wish I could go back and edit undo. What does my friend think I meant? I’m such a dork sometimes. ::kicks self. kicks self HARD::
Sometimes I wonder who got the most bum end of the deal out of this whole two kids in two years thing: my poor husband, my poor body, or my poor tender heart.