Filed under: MyFamily
A day in the life… I arrived yesterday morning at the day care, the boy in tow. He was pretty grumpy — not his usual smiling morning self. He’d had a pediatrician’s appointment the day before, where he got stuck with big needles (4 in number) for the usual immunization routine. That got him pretty cranky and teething woes also seem to be increasing in intensity lately. This means he pretty much wants to be held, and bounced, constantly, and even that doesn’t guarantee he’ll stop crying. (Pretty much the only guarantee is to nurse him, because he can’t cry when his mouth is full.)
So I was reluctant to hand him off, but included some Tylenol in the diaper bag, hopefully to be used only as a last resort. I had to fill out a form saying it was OK to dose him, much to the disapproval of the day care dad (DCD). (Thankfully, I agree we should avoid medication if at all possible so disapproval was actually great.)
As all this was going on, DCD was rummaging through the diaper bag to find the bottles we usually make up for the boy (filled with pumped milk). He came up empty. Aargh. We’d forgotten to pack the milk. Worse, we’d forgotten to pack bottles. We had formula at the day care as a back up, but now nothing to feed him with. We are terrible parents. (I should mention that this is DH’s job to pack the milk so there was a twinge of anger there, though we all make mistakes and it had been a hectic morning.) I was late to work.
Super mom springs into action. I realize our houseguest from the weekend is still at home, and planning to come into San Francisco later that morning. If she could bring the bottles (with milk), I could meet her — she was using public transportation — grab the precious cargo and drop it off at the day care. To make this happen, I have to call and call and call our home phone number, until she actually answers. (She has no cell phone and I can’t think of any other way to indicate to her that it’s me calling and that she should answer.) Thankfully, she does, after about five calls.
Then I have to map out a route that has her coming to a BART station near us. Of course, I have no clue what BART stations are nearby, or which have accessible parking. So I begin research. (Meanwhile, of course, I am supposed to be working, as well as pumping milk for the next day at day care.) A couple of hours later, I meet her at the BART station, she hands the bottles to me over the turnstiles, and I jet back to the day care. Mission accomplished. But my breasts are about to burst from lack of pumping and I have gotten very little work done. And all along the way there were obstacles — what if she didn’t answer the phone? what if I got lost going to the BART station? — that could have resulted in a much less pleasant outcome. Disaster averted. *Sigh*
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Stress like this isn’t great for my eating but I didn’t do too terribly bad — other than eating the leftover pizza we bought for the guest’s visit. Last night we hit the Berkeley Bowl (grocery store with tons of produce and healthy options) and I stocked up on whole grains. The boy seems in better spirits today. And all is right with the world…. until the next catastrophe.
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