One of These Days Is Not Like the Others

This morning, I was woken from a fitful, light sleep by Pebbles gagging and projectile vomiting (1 hour and 45 minutes after she ate). Her acid reflux seems to be getting worse, not better ... and seems to be made worse when I eat vegetables, some fruits, whole grains and beans. In other words, if I eat crap, she's fine. Lovely.

I was too nervous to lie her down again, so I dozed and she slept on my chest until it was well past time to get up. That was the second problem.

The third problem came after I fed her and snuggled with her far too long (she's warm, the living room most definitely is not) - making me even later. That wasn't so much the problem as falling down the stairs with Pebbles in my arms was. Fortunately, it was only the last half of the stairs. Fortunately, my left hip and my right elbow took most of the fall (it's always my left hip!). Fortunately, I didn't drop Pebbles, just scared the living daylights out of her.

She cried. I sat there stunned, wind knocked out of me. Woodstock (whom Himself had just gotten up) cried because "Mamma's hurt. Fall down da stairs." (after she asked, "What's wrong honey?")

From that point on, it was pure chaos. The one day I forget to obsessively stalk the weather and it snows. Woodstock, already the world's pokiest eater, was even pokier than normal (of course, because I was late). It snowed harder.

I finally left the house, 20 minutes late. I took a different way to work than usual, avoiding the bench where the snow tends to be worse. It was snowing hard and I missed the flashing lights of a school zone. Unfortunately, the Sheriff's Deputy out this morning with his radar gun, did not.*

He poked his head in my window - "you were speeding in a school zone," he said. At this point, it felt as if the entire universe was conspiring against me, and I was only seconds away from full-blown histeria.

"Momma, who's dat?" Woodstock piped up from the back seat. The deputy said, "you have beautiful kids. I nodded, "Fortunately the newborn is still alive, I said, this is just the frosting on a really crummy day. I fell down the stairs with her this morning."

He asked if we were okay. I assured him we were - mostly. He said, "I'm sorry I had to do this."

"It's not your fault," I said, wishing he'd just give me the ticket so I could break down in hysterics before I got to work.

What felt like hours later, he came back with what I was certain was my citation. He poked his head in my window to avoid the snow. "You know," he said, "I'm just giving you a warning. You know what did it? I'm human, we all have bad days, but you took responsibility for what you did. I think that's penance enough."

I was glad I didn't have to say anything more than "thank you," because I couldn't. I was so relieved.

Later, my mom called with more good news - she'd tracked down a giraffe costume for Woodstock (who has told everyone she's going to be a giraffe, when in fact she was going to be a lion). I dropped the phone, couldn't reach it.

I was 45 minutes late to work - and I realized I had forgotten my lunch. And now it's really snowing.

But if bad things come in threes, I'm covered. The rest of today should be splendid.

*For the record, I am hyper-vigilant about school zones. I do not speed in school zones. Ever. Well, except this morning. I felt horrible, which just increases my gratitude to the deputy.