I gathered dishes and food from the table and walked toward the kitchen. As I passed my mom, a thought occured to me. “Mom, are gonna eat this?”
She took a few steps forward to inspect what I offered. The baby bowl tipped forward and we watched the lone plump strawberry fall to the ground.
My mom spoke slowly, her eyes glued to the strawberry’s new location. I guess because she is a mom, she had to state the obvious. “No, I am not gonna eat that.”
“Yeah. Okay.” It is just that kind of day.
I simply cannot remember. Did I poop yesterday? Or am I constipated? Umm. I was really busy. Every time I had to go, I remember getting interrupted. I think. Or not. Wouldn’t I be extra gassy?
The short path from the kitchen to the bathroom was an endless loop of obstacles. “MOM! She was looking at me!” Or “My neck is dry. I need water. I need water. Mommy. I need water, Mommy!” What was that blob on the wall? A booger? No one confesses.
Midnight arrived. Kids were in bed. Home lunches prepared, kitchen and living room cleaned, paperwork completed and I took advantage of showering with hot water. (Who likes to shower after water hogs?) Brushed my teeth, quickly decided against worrying about tomorrow’s outfit, and sank into bed.
Shit. I forgot to poop.
Don’t do it. Seriously, just hear me out.
Don’t fart in your thong. Does anyone realize what happens?
The sphincter protrudes against your thong. If you are anywhere near having to poop, say hello to the poop kiss left on your thong.
That is all.
I pushed open the door to my daughter’s room. As I strode toward her, she looked up at me sheepishly. I put my arm on her shoulder.
“Mom, I just farted.”
“Oh…I see,” I breathed out carefully, “then I shall only exhale.. ” How lucky I was, that I had not yet refilled my lungs.
My feet shuffled quickly backwards, still slowly exhaling until I spun to dart through the exit.
I made it!
“Mom.” Her voice brushed softly against my ear. I turned my head to look at my 5 year old. She continued. “Who is gonna be our mom when you die?”
I blinked. “What?”
“I don’t want you to die. But who is gonna be our mom?” Tears rimmed her big eyes.
“Oh, honey, I am not dying. But I will always be in your heart, no matter what happens. I can be an angel and watch out for you forever.”
“But how do angels die?”
Even though I am an avid Supernatural fan, I tried to reassure her. “Angels don’t die. So I will watch you all the time.”
“But who will take care of us if you are an angel?”
Oh, come ON! Do all five year olds question death and caretakers every few days? I hugged her tight. “Your aunty will take care of you.”
She paused to think, staring at the wall behind me. “Okay. Can I watch movies now?”
I sighed and stroked her hair. “No. Please go to sleep. Shhhhh.”
Poking my head around the corner, I sniffed the air a few times. “Oh.” The tendrils of a slightly putrid odor flew up my nostrils.
My feet took me closer to the door and I called out to my 5 year old sitting on the toilet. “Good job!”
I looked dubiously over at my coffee cup. It was sitting in time out in the corner of my desk. A deep rumbling exploded from my abdomen. Damn! I kept my gaze concentrated on my paperwork and hoped no one would realize that morning coffee betrayed me. No! Not at work! A sigh escaped as I calculated 7 more hours of torturous trapped gases to endure.
I may not be the most conventional mom.
Thank goodness my car beeps. Or it would have taken years to locate.
I recently had a boyfriend. It sounds weird to me. Boyieeeeee freeeeend.
I am a grown-ass woman saying I had a boyfriend. I felt like I was either 15 years old or married most of the time.
He wants to know what he did to push me away. He misses me.
What can I really say? You’re a swell guy, but I need to be independent. I cannot really explain it. I am a free bird.