5.09.2006
The Big Day
This morning, I had an appointment with my prospective employer. It was very early for me and I needed to prepare everything just so in order to ensure I would arrive on time. Last night, I laid out my clothes and packed my bag. Dear husband and I reviewed the plan for how the morning would go before we went to bed.
At 7:10 this morning, I was on my way. A little late, I had already wasted my spare time, but I was looking polished and had a sleepy, content son in tow munching strawberry toaster pancakes and watching Spongebob. The traffic gods were with me. I sailed through all the green lights and the highway was doing the speed limit. I was feeling smug. Clearly, this was my day.
I pulled into the daycare at 10 to 7, planning to drop my little boy off quickly because I wasn't really sure where I was going.
Then came a terrifying noise from the back seat. He was choking on his pancake! I threw the car into park and, before I slammed my door on my way to him, I could tell he had almost cleared his throat. When I reached his door, he was still gagging a little and I offered him some water still in the car from the weekend. It looks like he'll be OK. He's still breathing. I am watching so closely for signs that he still may be choking that I miss any warning that he was about to puke all over himself and the car.
What a reality check. A little reminder that, above all else, I am a mom. I managed to dodge the mess but my sweet little boy, just covered in sick, is desperate for a hug. It had been a traumatic 30 seconds. I take off my suit coat, lay it on the front seat, and gingerly lift him from the yuck. It really is everywhere. I strip him down to his shoes, socks and diaper and use baby wipes to clean off the rest. There is no time to putz with the car or his carseat. I really have to go.
I wrap him in a blanket, hoping I don't meet the director on the way in. To her, puking is puking and he won't be allowed to stay. Once we're safe in the classroom, we're greeted by his teacher, who can already see it has been quite a morning. My boy basks in the attention one gets by arriving in their birthday suit and I dash to his cubby for his extra clothes.
I don't even remember dressing him. I am filling in the teacher. I tell her he isn't sick, that I have to run to an interview, and that if they do need anything to call Daddy. My son is already off playing. He is telling his classmate that he "eat a pancake and spit it out." I guess this is preschool bragging because he doesn't actuallly know how to spit.
The teacher instructs him to wish me luck. He does and I am on my way - except the sign on the door catches my attention. It says, "My mommy is special because..." Beside my son's name, it says "Yeah. She say I love you, I love you. She play dinosaurs, she play bugs." That's just about the best thing he could have said and it gave me the power to conquer the world - or at least get through that interview.
How did I do? Stay tuned... ¶ 21:55
At 7:10 this morning, I was on my way. A little late, I had already wasted my spare time, but I was looking polished and had a sleepy, content son in tow munching strawberry toaster pancakes and watching Spongebob. The traffic gods were with me. I sailed through all the green lights and the highway was doing the speed limit. I was feeling smug. Clearly, this was my day.
I pulled into the daycare at 10 to 7, planning to drop my little boy off quickly because I wasn't really sure where I was going.
Then came a terrifying noise from the back seat. He was choking on his pancake! I threw the car into park and, before I slammed my door on my way to him, I could tell he had almost cleared his throat. When I reached his door, he was still gagging a little and I offered him some water still in the car from the weekend. It looks like he'll be OK. He's still breathing. I am watching so closely for signs that he still may be choking that I miss any warning that he was about to puke all over himself and the car.
What a reality check. A little reminder that, above all else, I am a mom. I managed to dodge the mess but my sweet little boy, just covered in sick, is desperate for a hug. It had been a traumatic 30 seconds. I take off my suit coat, lay it on the front seat, and gingerly lift him from the yuck. It really is everywhere. I strip him down to his shoes, socks and diaper and use baby wipes to clean off the rest. There is no time to putz with the car or his carseat. I really have to go.
I wrap him in a blanket, hoping I don't meet the director on the way in. To her, puking is puking and he won't be allowed to stay. Once we're safe in the classroom, we're greeted by his teacher, who can already see it has been quite a morning. My boy basks in the attention one gets by arriving in their birthday suit and I dash to his cubby for his extra clothes.
I don't even remember dressing him. I am filling in the teacher. I tell her he isn't sick, that I have to run to an interview, and that if they do need anything to call Daddy. My son is already off playing. He is telling his classmate that he "eat a pancake and spit it out." I guess this is preschool bragging because he doesn't actuallly know how to spit.
The teacher instructs him to wish me luck. He does and I am on my way - except the sign on the door catches my attention. It says, "My mommy is special because..." Beside my son's name, it says "Yeah. She say I love you, I love you. She play dinosaurs, she play bugs." That's just about the best thing he could have said and it gave me the power to conquer the world - or at least get through that interview.
How did I do? Stay tuned... ¶ 21:55
