Guts But No Glory

Joel's car is in the shop. We remembered this five minutes before he had to head to work today. Any other day I would toss him the keys to Betsy, my large-and-in-charge old man car. However, today was the day I was hoping to finally see a doctor about my poison ivy that set up shop nine weeks ago (yes, NINE WEEKS!) and is still progressing. Don't get me wrong, I have seen a doctor. In fact, two different doctors have given me two different prescriptions which have both done less than whatever concoctions I come up with at home and while I've bought CVS' entire stock of over-the-counter treatments and persisted in trying them for the last seven weeks, they're inefficacious against this monster. After calling every dermatologists near me yesterday and finding out that the fastest any one of them could see me was October (wow, did I pick the wrong career!), I was hoping that my good old GP could do something about this. Needless to say, waiving all rights to Betsy today was not an option. Two minutes later I was dressed and we were packing up the car.

After the mad dash of loading up Charli, her breakfast and any diaper bag details Murphy would decide we need if we tried to chance it and fighting traffic to and from Joel's work, I arrived home ready to start my day. The babe was fed, I was dressed, my husband was at work, it was only 8.15am and I had energy to spare. I felt a bit like superwoman.

Right  after I got Charli dressed for the day,  my cat, ChelseaFootballClub, decided that his morning diet wasn't sitting right with him. Not to get graphic, but I'm pretty sure the reason he had indigestion was because he ate five times the amount his stomach could digest. I had visions of trying to keep the cat and Charli away from me while cleaning up toxic waste without a hazmat suit. Not going to work. So I tossed the cat outside and got Charli set up with some blueberries in her high chair before arming myself with all kinds of tools and chemicals. The clean up with far less traumatic than I anticipated and I realized I had time to get all the trash inside the house out to the large can before the collectors came this morning. I was beginning to feel a bit like superwoman again until I stepped out the door armed with full trash bags... onto the remaining guts of the mouse that had gotten revenge on Chelsea shortly before. Did I mention it's Spring so I am always barefoot? This was followed by the first explosive diaper we've ever had. Really, how could this morning get started any better?

I was tempted to fall apart, crawl back in bed and call the day quits. And while anyone who knows me, knows how very uncomfortable guts and body functions make me (I know you wouldn't this so with the length of this post but it really is true), I had a moment where I realized my thinking was all wrong. Motherhood is not about being or feeling like superwoman. It's not about having a good morning or getting more done in a day than you expected. It's not really about getting glory and in fact, it's not about me at all. Motherhood isn't measured in how pleasant you are after a full night's sleep, or how often your baby girl claps at the funny songs you sing for her. It's about doing the very best you can with whatever comes your way for the people that you love and are responsible for. This morning, all the things that came my way were things that make me squirm. But the toxic waste is gone, the carpet cleaned, my baby's napping with a clean bottom and I even managed to get a doctor appointment for later this morning. Hopefully she'll be able to help get rid of one squirmy thing. But even if she can't, life feels a little super.