My kid’s diaper exploded.
In the middle of the kitchen.
At my friend’s house.
During her daughter’s 1st birthday party.
And my husband is nowhere to be found, off fishing with the guys in the lake behind my friend’s house. I rudely ask him later on if he’s planning to parent today, which in hindsight was wrong of me considering I wanted him to go off with the guys so I could drink my martini in peace.
Not like I get much peace with the Chiquita around, but at least I could chat with the girls and sip the toxic Strawberry Shortcake martini my friend made while the Chiquita plays in the baby pool and without my husband giving me that ‘Are we gonna go soon?’ look.
Hubs isn’t a social butterfly.
But, back to the Chiquita, who decides she’s done in the baby pool. She walks to the patio door. Someone lets her inside.
I jump up thinking what is this kid doing? I go inside and ask her what’s up.
“Eat!” She responds, like she hasn’t eaten enough all day, but my kid like me is a chip addict. Chip as in potato chip, yes another Bad Mom topic for you how I let my kid eat potato chips and Dunkin Munchkins.
“Eat! Eat!” She says and is walking through my friend’s kitchen.
I look down and omg she is dripping water ALL OVER THE PLACE.
I try to get her to stop moving and stand still as I’m trying to wipe up the floor, remove her bathing suit bottoms and meanwhile she is confused pointing to the food and saying, “Eat!”
She has no idea that she’s dripping water; even though I’m telling her – sort of even yelling at her – “Stop moving! You’re dripping water all over the place!”
Well, I mean, I told her to stop. What does she do? She stops. And she plops down on the floor. BAM! Sure enough her water logged diaper explodes on the floor.
Meanwhile my friend’s family is all sitting around watching this unfold as I’m slowly unraveling. Really? Really? I think.
I’m looking outside the patio door praying that my husband has come back, but no, he’s off … somewhere…having fun … and here I am having to attend to this mess of an exploded diaper, a wet child, a hungry child AND having everyone staring at me. At my bad parenting and the mess I’m making all over my friend’s house in the middle of her daughter’s 1st birthday party. Ohmigosh, we are ruining everything.
Now, this I’m sure isn’t what anyone was thinking…but in the moment this is what I’m thinking they are thinking, and I’m feeling anxiety about the whole thing so my brain is starting to envision the worst.
The situation was quickly rectified – Chiquita changed and fed (again), the mess cleaned up, and we are back outside hanging out with the girls, sipping cocktails, and yes, eating more chips.
I’m telling a gal how during this whole debacle I’m getting really flustered. On top of it, friend’s brother is yelling out, “It’s OK, she’s just a spaz,” like yeah I am, but thanks, do you really need to yell that to your entire family while I’m on my hands and knees cleaning up diaper mess off the hardwood floor? This is embarrassing enough.
I suppose with the anxiety, the embarrassment and the buzz I did look like a basket case and friend’s brother-in-law says in all seriousness, “Wow, you need medication.”
IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE FAMILY!
“I’m ON medication,” I yell back, now losing any shred of dignity I was still holding on to.
So this gal hearing the dramatic tale says, “I don’t understand why you’re getting so flustered, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“I don’t know.” I’m trying to explain it to her.
I mean, how do you explain your craziness to someone? Like have a camera follow me around and then watch it on TV in your pjs and you’ll totes get it while you’re sipping your wine and laughing at me!
This is what I want to tell her, but I know she’s asking out of genuine concern, and not in a judgy sort of way. She’s honestly confused why I get like this.
Finally after going back and forth we get it out of me.
“I don’t want to be a bad mom!”
I am old school, and I have many complaints about things that parents do, like why do you let your children run around the store? Don’t you tell them “This isn’t a playground, it’s the store! Stop running around!”? That’s what my Italian mom yelled at me.
Along with don’t talk back, respect your elders, do unto others as you want them to do unto you, were you raised in a barn…and a barrage of other things that I don’t always see kids doing nowadays. And I guess I am being a bit judgmental of parents nowadays which I suppose isn’t really my place. I mean, I’m a mess enough right?
But, because I’m looking at other kids and wondering why in the hell they are behaving this way I’m assuming that all other people are looking at me and thinking the same thing.
I Don’t Want to Be a Bad Mom.
Gal says something so interesting to me that it’s been sitting with me for days now.
“Don’t you think if you keep putting this “Bad Mom” vibe out into the universe you’re somehow willing it to be? Giving other people the chance to think it?”
That’s a really interesting perspective. Maybe only a perspective you get after a couple martinis. Or maybe she’s just really smart?
She continues, “It’s kind of like with my weight. If I keep saying to people that I’m overweight it’s bringing attention to my weight rather than just me liking me for me and not worrying about it.”
This is genius. So very profound.
I started this Bad Mom section on my website to be funny and to poke fun at myself and to give moms something to laugh about. We’re all making mistakes and we’re all doing the best that we can.
But, is this teasing myself hurting my self-esteem a bit? Am I taking it all too serious in thinking that I actually AM a bad mom instead of just laughing at the little things?
Maybe so. I’m going to work on not calling myself a bad mom anymore. But, I will continue to bring you Bad Mom stories because I think we all need to learn to laugh at ourselves once in a while. How else do we stay sane? I haven’t gotten any bad mom stories lately…what are your bad mom stories? Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.