The Worst Day Ever

This is the story of the Worst Day Ever and how it inspired me to start blogging again. Let me just preface this story by saying that, logically, I know this wasn’t actually the worst day EVER. But it was bad enough to stake a permanent place in my memory bank. And it was bad enough to not NOT share. And I'm emotionally spent right now so I'm being dramatic. Shocking. 

I think the most disappointing thing is that this day actually started off great. I got to sleep in, make waffles and bacon with The Boss Lady and Mike and I got to do all of the little “stuff” around the house that builds up over the work week. The Boss Lady and I had a baby shower to go to that started at 2 so I knew we had to be out of the house by 12:30 to get there on time. Yes, it was going to take us an hour & a half to get there. And, yes, I was willing to drive that far for a baby shower because it was for family. AND I remember how special my baby shower was to me and how very much I appreciated everyone who made the effort to come.

We finally got out of the house around 12:45 (not too bad considering I had to get myself and a 3 year old ready) and started on our way. About 15 minutes into the drive, I was sitting in a parking lot of traffic. And before I could divert my car in time to avoid this cluster you-know-what, I saw the flashing sign “Freeway Closed Ahead.” It may as well have said “You Are In A Car With A Three Year Old And You Are Supposed To Be Somewhere In One Hour. Welcome To ‘You Are Screwed-Ville!’”

Fifteen minutes after that I was able to exit, backtrack the way I came, and off we went again. At 1:30, I checked my navigation, feeling confident that I had made up some time and saw that I had just a short hour & a half drive ahead of me still. EFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!

But on I went, determined NOT to miss this shower. I called Mike on the way there and lamented (translation: bitched & moaned) about how I am late to EVERYTHING and I am so tired of feeling so CHAOTIC every flippin’ day. Solutions I came up with during this conversations ranged from hiring a personal assistant, to quitting my job, to me going to live as a monk in a remote rainforest. Seriously, my head was spinning and though I don’t make any beans about being 15 minutes late, an HOUR late was bad even for me.

But we arrived and the shower was nice and an hour later we were back in the car, making the hour & a half journey back home so that Mike could then take Oli to my sister’s house so we could go to a Parents’ Night Out thing for her school.

Naturally on my way home, I start doing the math: Shower ended at  4 p.m. We finally got in the car around 4:20 + 1 & ½ drive home = 5:50 p.m. 15 minute drive to sister’s = 6:05 p.m. 30 minutes to get ready for event = 6:35. 25 minute drive there = 6:55. Holy crap, I might actually be early for once!! Yeah, right.

Twenty minutes into the drive, Olivia starts explaining (translation: whining/yelling) that she wants to get out of the car. She doesn’t like being in the car, the songs are too loud, the wind is too loud, her back hurts, you get the picture. I don’t want to make my kid out to be an a-hole in this scenario. I don’t blame her AT ALL for her reaction to being back in the car. I totally sympathize actually. I simply highlight these things to paint a picture of what my evening was shaping up to be.  And no matter how understanding I am of Olivia’s plight, I am nevertheless aggravated by the screeching noises of a 3 year old.

When my trusty navigation system let me know that we had 40 minutes left in our drive, my gas light came on. Neat. I was in the middle of nowhere. So I drove another 10 minutes looking for a gas station that didn’t look like a scene from a horror movie. My trusty 3 year old then reminded me that we should have never potty trained her by yelling “I need to go to the bathroom!” And that reminded me that I needed to go the bathroom too. Damn Mommy Bladder. I searched the horizon for a decent looking gas station. And right when we landed smack dab in a part of town you don’t want to be in when it gets dark…it got dark. And I pulled over hoping to find the QuikTrip that was advertised on the sign a few miles back. That apparently was just a joke though and I had to pull into a Shell station instead. Olivia in the meantime is screaming about having to go pee and asking (yelling) for me to count with her since I had started a stupid counting game to get our minds off of our full bladders. And I pull over, yelling at her to stop yelling at me and I get the gas pump going and I unbuckle Oli from her 482 checkpoint car seat harness and I run into the bathroom to mercifully find…

PISS EVERYWHERE.

I’m serious. Some drunkard evidently relieved himself ALL OVER this bathroom. And, yes, I’m using the male pronoun here because I think we all know that a male is the only sex capable of this. There is pee on every inch of the toilet seat, pee on the floors, and walls. And the place reeks. I screech at Oli to not to touch anything, do a cursory wipe down of the seat and realize that I could wipe for the next 2 weeks and still not clean off the pee. I have a great idea (translation: stupid) that I can just hold Oli over the seat while she pees.  Reminder for those of you who have nodded off: I also have to pee. I have a Mommy Bladder. And a bad back.

I hold The Boss Lady over the toilet and pee starts going everywhere. On her. On the toilet seat. On me. And then my Mommy Bladder gives out and I start peeing on myself but trying really hard to hold it as my back is also giving out. I’m sorry if that grosses you out. Wait, no I’m not. If that makes you grossed out, then you aren’t a mom. You’re probably a dude. And if you suddenly find me unattractive because of that, well, lucky you—I’m taken.

Finally I just set her down on the edge of the toilet seat, exposing her to goodness-knows-what  and just start choking back tears as I wipe her off. For the first time in all her life, I wished my child was a boy so I could just point her penis in the right direction and just say “Go!” instead of having to have dealt with the fact that her she is neither tall enough nor does she have the quad strength to squat.  

I called Mike on the way home to let him know to have my Wine IV ready and when we get there we just walk in and strip off our clothes. I put them in the car, covered everything in kerosene and just lit everything on fire. Oli and I took bleach baths and some of those Vitamin C pills that are supposed to keep you healthy so that hopefully we don’t contract Hepatitis from the drunkard’s piss. And now I’m drinking.

Okay, okay, none of that last paragraph happened. Except the drinking part. THAT happened.

You probably know by now that I have a full time job in addition to this whole Mommy gig. And my job can be stressful but I’ve told people many times in the past 3 years that I have become a better employee since I had a kid because I have this little gem called PERSPECTIVE now. Some days, I am stressed at work and I am flustered, and frustrated, and tired. But never, ever, ever on my WORST day there, have I EVER been covered in pee. Mommyhood is HARD y’all.

There you have it: The Worst Day Ever. Or at the very least, a very bad day. And you know why THIS was the catalyst for me blogging again? Because I need to share this stuff to know I’m not the only who is going through this insanity. Or at the very least, I want to let YOU know that you aren’t the only one going through this insanity. And that’s okay. That’s life. That’s motherhood. Sometimes. And at the end of a day like today, I find I can always be thankful for at least ONE thing. Wine. Today, I’m thankful for wine.