Bedrest Moments I’d Just as Soon Forget. . .

Although I’m a long-time MckMama and Stellan follower, I’ve never before participated in “Not Me! Monday.” But now that I’ve been on bedrest for a month and a half, there are some blog posts in which the only way to save any remaining dignity is to participate in this meme.

It seems almost impossible for me (as a mom of a 3yo and 19 month-old) to coordinate (from my “manager’s office” in bed) everything that needs to be happening for this young family. And we are blessed with the best of help.

But life happens. So for now, stuff continually falls through the cracks. I’m desperately trying to be okay with that, for my own sanity, and so my family can stand to live with me.

Which is why I need to be okay with my son wearing his shoes on the wrong feet or wearing a shirt too small, with sleeves that barely reach his elbows, or pants too long that continually drop to the floor. . .

And why I have to be okay with snowy footprints people have tracked in on the hardwoods (I can’t mop) and crumbs all over the dining room floor after lunch (I can’t sweep) and toys everywhere (I’m not supposed to squat or bend down)!

But, despite the fact that in the moment this stuff seems so overwhelming, when I stop to really think, it’s actually rather mundane–not incredibly blog-worthy–just part of bedrest life.

So while I want to say ‘not me,’ I really just need to “Deal!” as my three-year-old tells me.

Last week though, I experienced a genuine “Not Me!” moment. The kids’ baths have been falling through the cracks. This is one I have trouble dealing with. It’s basic toddler hygiene, you know. And one of those things they just can’t do for themselves yet.

One morning, from my bedrest post on the couch, I caught a whiff of my three-year-old daughter and called to my husband (from the living room to the kitchen). “Daniel! Mara stinks—like poop! It’s been six days since the kids have had baths now!” I’m sure my voice was a bit edgy, since I was already annoyed about the whole bath thing. As soon as I said it, I knew I had made a big mistake.

My poor poor child looked completely dejected and deflated, as she spoke in a hushed voice, “I don’t ‘stink–like poop’.”

Then Mara picked up her phone to call her imaginary friend (Tosta) who apparently sleeps on the twin bed in her room, when there are no guests staying with us.

“Hi, Tosta,” she said. “My mom and dad say I ‘stink like poop.’–I don’t ‘stink like poop’! . . . I need your help, Tosta. . .  Please help me. Bye.”

She pressed the button to end the imaginary phone call, glancing at me with hurt in her eyes.

I did not know what to do or say. It was true! I wished I hadn’t said it, but now I couldn’t take it back. So I just hugged her and told her she would have a bath today, and she would smell nice after her bath.

Then I walked into the kitchen and collapsed (crying) in my husband’s arms. . . .

Surely I’m not the mom whose kids went six days without baths.

Surely I’m not the mom who yelled through the house in front of her daughter that she stunk like poop!

Surely my daughter isn’t the one who has to call her imaginary friend for support when Mom insults her . . .

A definite “not me” moment.