March 13, 2012
The big darling and I went back to the eye doctor today. “The” eye doctor. The place we were when we received “the call”. I stayed true to form, and had several mini freak outs over the last few days. I had already postponed the appointment once, and flat out didn’t show up another time. I suck. We had to go. Why did this bother me? Besides the obvious reason, I think it was truly causing added anxiety because of something I probably have never mentioned. And that is that when we received the call and knew what was going on, we ran to the front door to leave and the door was locked. The door was locked and the lights were off! We were facking locked in!! Couldn’t leave!! Couldn’t find anyone. The place was closing. We were the last patients. And because I am SUCH a SHIT MAGNET I was left kicking and tugging and pulling on a locked door while screaming hysterically for someone to let us out. Imagine….why…yes…your husband may be dead, but for added torture, you cannot leave, dear. Stand here longer, savoring the fact that every second feels like an eternity. Bwahahahaha! What kind of evil is running this show? Anyway, this place is a maze, I can barely find my way on a normal day. So we took off running, like mice through a maze, screaming hysterically, all sorts of nonsense, of course. I found a maid, pushing a cart. She didn’t speak English (shit magnet) but she spoke my language in that moment and led us to a side door.
My kids’ therapist has encouraged them to replace some of the more gruesome images with a silly image. Something like….a pink elephant. Something to just distract and get over the hump quickly when the image is burning a hole in your brain. I kept thinking about what I would do when we got there. Just in case I freaked out. Turns out I was super distracted by an old friend that I adore. I was busy texting and being inappropriate and laughing at pictures and the dreaded eye doctor was a breeze. Didn’t hurt a lick. Thank God for pink elephants. Mine was special today, the timing was perfection and I’m so thankful.
In other news, it is now time to shop for a bathing suit. I tried one on and was in line to buy it but there were two horrible parents who were letting their baby scream so I had to leave. I’m pissed off that my ears and my heart are just so damn tender that I can’t listen to a shrieking baby. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to take him away from them. They didn’t look like they cared. The father who looked like a total addict was even being mean to the small child, maybe 18 mos old, and telling him to shut up. It was 2:00. The kid obviously did not have a nap. I know this. I wanted to get all ninja on them. I wanted to kick them. Steal their baby. Give him to someone who knows how to raise a kid. I thought about saying something to them. Like please have more patience, he’s tired and probably hungry and you guys are assholes. But I just prayed really hard and left without my cute bathing suit. I’m kind of angry at myself for doing nothing, but I’m not in charge of the world. Even though I should be.
On the subject of bathing suits, I will now make a public service announcement. It is really unfair that many of us muthas are thin enough to wear a bikini but have less than perfect stomachs because of many pregnancies. This was discussed in the nail salon today. I have too much skin right on top of my belly button. I am not alone. It sucks and is grossly unfair. We want to be bikini girls. Not mommy looking people wearing tankinis. Screw tankinis. We have alter egos to satisfy. I thought there was maybe a quickie belly button fix I might be able to get one day. However, someone told me today that to fix this, you have to be sliced open with a filet knife and you can’t lift your kids for a month. Umm…yeah…that is never happening. So you all will have to just deal with our extra skin. Ya heard me? Deal with it. If I stand up straight it’s not noticeable. When I bend over it’s worse. So I don’t plan to bend over. Be prepared to hand us drinks and pick up our beach towels since we can’t bend over. Don’t worry, after you hand me a few I won’t care about the skin and then I’ll pick up my own towel.
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