Sometimes it amazes me that anyone can be a parent. For most of us, there are no tests to pass, or necessary qualifications, other than working parts. Proof?
This week, we had multiple “whoopsies.” The first (and best in my opinion) was when I accidentally locked myself in the car. Yes, I know people think only blondes are dumb. Nope, let the redhead dumb jokes begin. I have childlock on in the backseat of my car. We were at Target and I was loading Baby Zog in the car. A van had parked VERY close to the driver side of my car, so I sat down in the back to put Baby Zog in (his car seat is in the middle) and closed the door. Therein lay my mistake. I finished buckling Baby Zog in and went to get out…and locked. And then I realized my mistake. I tried to reach the front of the car (don’t ask me why I tried this) to unlock it - but duh, you can only undo child lock with the door open – and from the actual door. I sat there for a minute or two, trying to strategize a plan to get out of my car where I did not have to admit to strangers at Target as to how big of an idiot I was. Seriously, who locks themselves in their own car? You hear about the 911 calls, but you never think that could ever be you.
Don’t you worry. I figured it out. Climbing over the seat wasn’t going to be an option. With the headrest, I had about 10″ of clearance. I looked around and debated trying to signal a stranger that I needed them to open the handle so I could get out. But let’s be honest. LAST RESORT. I had already paused while people were nearby so they wouldn’t figure out that I was anxiously engaged in finding a way out of my car. Fortunately for me, I am not always a total idiot. I found a way to remove the seemingly attached headrest, and because I was not pregnant or otherwise large, was able to wriggle my way forward and over and then collapse in the front of my car. Success! I won’t make that mistake again. And if I do, please, mock me until the end of my days.
And the final crowning moment was last night, when we stupidly were the cause of an allergic reaction in our child. Baby Zog isn’t supposed to have any cow’s milk until 1 year of age. Cheese is okay. What did we eat last night? Macaroni and cheese. Totally fine, right?
You see, when Sir Zog asked if it was okay, I was tired and wasn’t the actual maker of the mac and cheese. Perhaps if I had made it, my memory would have been jogged that, yes, there is milk added at the end of those super fancy blue boxes. But no, stupidity and sleep deprivation ruled. I answered yes. Two bites and five minutes later we had a baby covered in hives.
And then of course, there’s always the scratches and other boo-boos that super duper active 10 month old babies get. His best this week, was from the curtain rod in his room. He leaned out while I was holding him, and “bam!”
Like I said, banner parenting week. But I blame the fact that I came from a perpetually high mother. See?