May 22, 2010

"Nuke the site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure."

I have a belly bump.

Yes, I realize this is neither surprising (at 7 months pregnant) or news. I'm only really commenting on it because on top of my belly bump I HAVE A BELLY BUMP. It's a head. A disturbingly big head, from my perspective.

This kiddo is resting comfortably sideways across my middle, the very definition of a spare tire. Talk about a muffin top, whoo! And until he or she decides to move down into the more traditional pose, its head looks like, well... a big, round head. Growing out of the right side of my belly button.

The best part is when Mini-Schwartz stretches. Then the whole landscape changes and suddenly I've got that Sigourney Weaver* effect when the alien starts to press its way out of her abdomen, everything bulging in a creepy, squirming bullet shape. It's kind of a relief when it all settles back down into the nice normal bizarre lumpiness of the day-to-day.

Sort of makes dinner time less appetizing, for sure. But so far nothing has actually broken through and latched onto my face, so that's a bonus.*

*if you don't get all the Alien Trilogy references, get thee to Netflix, pronto. It's the only way to be sure.

May 17, 2010

why hormones are a bitch and friends are important

So there I am, walking out of the preschool after drop-off, barely 8 A.M. I've got my jaw clenched and my eyes open as wide as they can go to hold back the hysterics. I'm doing fine, right? Keeping it all together. Then I see my friend Lisa has pulled up next to my car to drop-off her little girl as well.

And that's it, y'all. You can't be all stoic in the face of friendliness. It just doesn't work.

So there I am, leaning against my (very dirty) car, sobbing, Lisa staring at me in bewilderment but being VERY NICE (because that's what friends do when confronted with randomly bawling other friends).

Why so blue? What's wrong? What happened to evoke this downpour?

Anna didn't want to go to school. She, in fact, had a full-on collapse when I tried to leave the classroom, clinging to me like a spider monkey and wailing for me not to leave, please don't leave me mommy, I want to stay with YOOOUUUUUU!!!! The teachers had to pull her off me and geez oh man does that girl have a strong grip. It was a scene.

The problem is that most mornings the kids meet in a big classroom but some mornings, depending on teachers, they meet in a classroom with a younger class before heading over to the big class. Anna HATES drop-off in the little kid's class. Even though all her friends are there, even though she knows all the teachers, even though she's been doing this for YEARS. Drop-off in the little kid's class is akin to torture, child abuse and full on abandonment worthy of years in prison for the horrible, terrible, awful mom who leaves her there.

Which would be, you guessed it, me.

Now mostly I am sort of annoyed by these random drop-off fits. It seems like such a silly thing to get upset over and starting my morning off with a screaming, clingy 5-year-old is never my preference. I usually hug her, pry her off and hand her to a teacher, and leave as quickly as possible to minimize the damage. But today?

Today I wailed in the parking lot like a broken doll on the shoulder of a bewildered and time-crunched friend. Who was, can I say again? VERY VERY NICE. As if it's totally normal for someone to get upset about a whiny preschool drop-off after more than two years of doing that exact same drop-off two and three times a week.

Which, I suppose, is the point. It probably IS normal... if you are seven months pregnant with your third child and so pumped full of emotionally compromising hormones that when you pull in to fill up your car with gas and find out you've picked the world's slowest fuel pump you are filled with a rage that could burn down the whole gas station.

Just, you know, as an example. Not that I've ever done that personally. Of course not.

(I called the school, by the way. Anna's fine. It's only the mama who's losing her shit.)

May 12, 2010

The words on the street

At our weekly playdate today, a little boy called the girls "stinky sluts", several time, while they ran around the play area. Clearly he had no idea what it meant (let's hope!), but when they came back to tell me and started giggling and calling each OTHER the same thing, I was not happy.

Now, I'm so not a confrontational person. I've always gone back and forth on playground politics and when to intervene. Mostly I tell the girls to say something and walk away if they are bothered. Occasionally, if I feel like the other kid's mom is not doing enough when someone gets physical, I'll tell the kid to knock it off and leave my girls alone. But in this case, talking to the child wasn't really appropriate. Can't you hear it?

"Hey there, little 4-year-old boy! Stop calling my children sluts! You don't even know them socially!!"

Yeah, right.

So, I went to the boy and had him take me to find his mom. He looked scared when I tapped him on the shoulder and I immediately started to feel bad. I was nice, though, and just followed him around to where she was sitting. As soon as she saw her little boy run up with another mom following him, her face went serious, and she said, "Oh, no, is everything ok?". She was a totally normal person, just hanging at the play area for something to do for an hour before lunch and nap time. She looked like just about any other mom I know.

And, boy oh boy, was she MORTIFIED when I sat down and gently told her what he'd been saying. (Funny side note: I actually blushed when I said "sluts". I need to get out more!) Her whole face went red, she covered her mouth and just shook her head and apologized. Then she turned and stared at her son. His face, of course, had gone all oh-no-what-just- happened-there-goes-my-tv-time serious. I told her it was ok, I just figured she'd want to know and I walked away.

First thing she did? Pulled out her cell phone and called, I'm assuming, her husband. Can't you hear that fun conversation? "So, honey. Guess what little Bobby just said! Hmm, where do you think he learned THAT WORD? Any ideas? SWEETIE?".

After I sat back down with my friends, I watched her from across the room. I felt a little guilty to see how appalled she was, especially when the little boy started crying as she made him get ready to go. I could have just told the girls not to play with him (or repeat him) and left it at that. My reasoning is that if it were me, I'd want to know.

So whaddya think? Would you have told the mom or let it slide? Is it any of my business what other kids say?