Together

I think one of the hardest things about being a women is the lie that you must have everything together. I mean who really does? None of us. That's who. My friend and neighbor sent me a great blog post about how we women compare ourselves to everyone. I have to admit, I get tired of evaluating myself and making sure I compare with other women. 

I think there is some (false) idea that stay-at-home moms have everything put together. This stereotype made (ok, makes) me feel inadequate sometimes. While I wish my floors were always clean, the laundry was always folded and my husband came home to a brand-new recipe every night, that does.not.happen. We pick up balls of dog hair off the floor, we wear clothes out of the (clean!) basket, and we eat a hot, homemade supper most nights. Praise Jesus for frozen pizza. 

I think most mommas, SAH or Working, have days like mine. You rush to get ready, hit the door running, trying not to look like a chicken with it's head cut off as you rush through the grocery with your tired baby, only to notice when you get home that you have dried breastmilk rings on your shirt and baby food in your hair. I have learned to LOVE things like that. I wear them as a badge of honor because it means I'm somebody's momma. And you know that every other momma you passed at Wal-Mart didn't even notice your pureed-peas-breastmilk mess because she's too worried about getting the peas out of her own hair! 

For you mommas who need a reminder that even those of us who look like we have it together DON'T always (and so it's written down lest I forget about it and miss out on the opportunity to embarrass my sweet boy with this story later in life) here is a story to put your mind at ease. 

We were celebrating Dane's great uncle's induction into a local Hall of Honor. As a SAHM who wears yoga pants and houseshoes most days, I relish the opportunity to get dressed up and go out. So I put on a cute satin dress with tights and zip up my riding boots. I even through on a cute little coat, because nursing mommas need layers. Dane slept through the reception before the ceremony and was wide awake when everyone took their seats in the auditorium. Apparently severe constipation is par for the course when introducing solids, so when The Boy is finally going, you pretty much know it. 

I jumped up from my seat and grab the diaper bag. As we hit the back doors of the auditorium he spits up all over himself and me... I hurry to the bathroom  and grab some paper towels to get us cleaned up. He's now crying because going #2 when you haven't been in days in apparently pretty painful. I forgot to mention we're in a high school auditorum so, of course, there are no diaper changing stations in the bathroom. Ugh. Right out side the bathroom is a bench underneath a window. Beggars can't be choosers, right? Out comes to trusty changing pad and I lay my screaming baby down to change him. I get him cleaned up and slip a new diaper underneath him... but he is not done. There.is.more.poop. So I sit and wait...and wait, as he continues crying, trying to let him finish while digging around for more wipes and another diaper. I probably resembled Mary Poppins pulling everything out of that stupid bag looking for one freakin' diaper. It has to be there, right?! I brought more than one! Please, mommas, tell me this sounds familiar. When you have a little boy, you must hold the diaper in place while he finishes his business because if you let it go to say, search frantically through your bag for another diaper, he will decide he needs to pee, too, and shower the window with urine. Oy. That poor school janitor. 

Thankfully by this time my mother-in-law heard me Dane crying and came to the rescue. If we're being truthful she sat and laughed hysterically while trying to soothe the baby. I guess that's payback for the time a momma cow bucked her into the bed of the four-wheeler instead of offering aid I laughed until I cried. Sorry, Dana. :) Ya'll, I'm just saying that that much poop should not come out of a tiny baby. Finally the eruption stopped, we cleaned up the window and I found a clean diaper. We decided to sit in the lobby for the remainder of the ceremony.

There I sat holding a traumatized baby in a pee-soaked, puke-covered onesie (the ONE time I forget a change of clothes!) looking down at the puke on my pretty satin dress and the run in my tights from the zipper on my boots. I learned a few things that day. 1) Nursing mommas should never wear satin, 2) zippers will pull your tights 3) don't try to act like you've got it all together because your baby will make a fool of you, and 4) God has a sense of humor.

There you have it, sweet friends. We all look "together" until you get close enough to smell the spit up. :)

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