Today is Julia’s third birthday and despite the fact that her brother is cutting multiple teeth at once and has been running a high fever since last night, is rejecting any long-term sleeping and eating efforts and has spent every waking moment wailing, we’ve managed to have a pretty good day so far. So what if I’m ready to crack a Corona at 1pm? My little girl’s having a good birthday and that’s all that matters. Right?
My functioning brain cells have been split between making my miserable baby as comfortable as possible and keeping Julia’s birthday high at a dull roar, so admittedly, I’m a bit fried right now. I wanted to write a nice little post about how three years ago today I became a mama, how wonderful Julia is and how much she’s changed my life, but that would require an amount of thought and diction that I’m clearly not capable of at the moment, so instead I’ll tackle a subject I can definitely relate to right now: stupidity.
Last week, Arabella tagged me with a cool-ass, homegrown Stupid Meme, so here goes…
Three stupid things I’ve done:
1) I told the cops who pulled me over that I was speeding because I had to go pee really bad. I’d just gotten off of work and was driving home with a guy I worked with, who I had a total hard-on for. I was totally stoked that we were going to hang out together and was trying to be all sexy and cool by speeding down the road in my rockin’ Ford Tempo (zero to fifty in five minutes, baby). I had the music cranked so loud I didn’t hear the sirens at first and when I finally did pull over I told the cop who was peering in my window I was speeding home to the can to avoid making an unfortunate scene in front of my hot passenger. I was hoping he’d take note of my knees, pressed tightly together for dramatic effect, and would let me go on my way with a warning and a friendly wave.
Nope. He and his partner followed me home, where they parked their cruiser in my driveway and waited for me to take my piss, quote unquote, and were kind enough to explain to my mother why I was coming home with cops bringing up the rear.
2) I congratulated a guy I used to work with on his wife’s pregnancy.
She wasn’t pregnant.
Yeah, I was that guy. I committed the cardinal sin; I said what most people know never, ever to say to a woman (or a woman’s husband) unless it is a well-known that said woman is in fact knocked up (or you happen to be the one who pumped her full of lil’ swimmers, which I clearly was not). I realized as soon as I said it and his eyes bugged out of his head that his wife most definitely was NOT pregnant and tried to make a joke out of it, which didn’t go over so well. Can you say mortified?
3) Then there was the time, just after I had Julia, when I took her out to the mall for the first time. I got her all strapped in her car seat, got her in the car, tossed the diaper bag in the back and got into the driver’s seat. I was so proud of myself: I was showered and dressed, with a bit of makeup on, and was going out with my brand spankin’ new baby girl for the first time. Look at me, world, I’m a new mom, I’m going out with my baby and I’m KICKING ASS!
I got to the end of the driveway and I realized that I’d grabbed the frying pan off of the kitchen counter and not my purse. And it wasn’t even clean.
And now, three stupid things that other people have done (or do) that directly affect me:
1) I’m always secretly thankful for Maury Povich and the freakshows that he showcases on those Seven Men, Seven Different Tests…Who’s My Baby’s Daddy? shows he does. Watching these people in action is a total ego boost – I can feel like the shittiest mom on the face of the earth and all I have to do is tune into Maury for five minutes and I feel like Mother of the Year.
2) One of the stupidest things that anyone has ever said to me was when I was about eight months pregnant with Julia. My brother-in-law and his (now ex) girlfriend came over to help Dave and his father put up the border in Julia’s nursery. They walked in to the living room, where I was sitting on the couch, and his girlfriend looked at me and said, “Hey, tubby.” Granted, I was big enough to require my own goddamn zip code, but “tubby” really wasn’t necessary. I’ve never forgotten (or forgiven) that.
3) And last but not least, a PSA to all of you drivers with broken fingers: I can’t read your fucking minds. If you’re going to make a turn, USE YOUR GODDAMN BLINKER.