…things are going swimmingly. The baby is fed and dressed and playing happily while I finish eating and packing up for work. Jason asks if he can get a ride to work. “Sure!” I say happily. Bossman is out so its no big deal if I’m a little late. Time to get the boy in the car seat and hit the road. Oh wait! He is stinky. I guess those play grunts were more about working something out. Ok! Quick diaper change and then we’ll be on our way.
…so this is was poop looks like when your baby starts gobbling up solid food…
F***** we have to go NOW! I snap when confronted with the arbitrary “we must leave now!” deadline my brain has apparently assigned to this specific time. I inexplicably tense up and feel anger bubbles boil just below my skin. At what? I guess because we’re going to be out the door 3 minutes after I wanted to be. Because I didn’t want to send the baby to the nanny with a dirty diaper. Because I’m going to be late. Because I didn’t get it all done ON TIME.
I continue to snap at and be short with Jason down the stairs, and getting in the car. He tries to tell me I need to calm down. There is no Sara, only Zule. We arrive at the nanny share a full block and a half from our apartment and I bolt out of the car, and pull on the door to the back seat. Goddamn auto-locks. I unreasonably pound on the door for Jason to unlock it so I can get the baby out.
He understandably doesn’t want a ride from the creature I have become anymore. He storms off toward a bus. I freak out. He was not helping ANYTHING.
I head up the stairs to drop off the baby. The tension lifts as I head into the apartment. I emerge from the fog of ridiculous rage. What the heck just happened? I take a deep breath, and unpack his things. Make some remark about it being “kind of a stressful” morning, but I’m no longer the Thing that I was only moments ago. I kiss the baby goodbye. Rub his head and wish him a good day.
Back in the car and tears quietly stream down my face as I merge onto the Kennedy. I wish I could tell my husband to have a good day. I wish he hadn’t thrown sweet tarts at me.
I arrive at work. 2 minutes early. Stupidly sad.