Housesitting and My First Legitimate "I Am a Crappy Mother" Moment

Last week, our dear friends Steph and Trey went to Vegas, and they asked us to housesit (house sit?). When they asked, I looked at Steph kind of incredulously, and said, "Are you kidding? 'Would you guys like to spend 5 days and 4 nights in our awesome, clean, quiet house as a single unit family and just CHILL OUT?' UM, YES. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"  I think it says a lot about our current state that we were more excited to housesit than we were jealous that we weren't going to Vegas with them.

I have to say, it lived up to our expectations, mostly. Friday night, my husband went to a party (like the party animal that he is), and I stayed home. Why did I stay home, you ask, even though I had a sitter lined up to go to said party with Beau? The party started at 9 PM. I can't roll like that anymore. So. Sophie went to sleep early, and I watched Dark Shadows on Netflix.

We spent the rest of the weekend eating off the cheap groceries I bought Saturday morning and drinking a delightful poor man's sangria recipe and watching Weeds, also on Netflix. My only regret is not taking a bath in their awesome tub. But it needed cleaning, and I could just never muster the strength to do it. All in all, a successful housesitting venture. I need more friends with awesome houses who travel.

Then, there was this morning, and my biggest mommy fail to date.

When I got out of the shower, I heard Sophie in her room, babbling away, so I went in and scooped her up for some quality time before I headed off to work. She rarely wakes up that early, so I wanted to seize the opportunity. I had my clothes already, so I sat her down on the bed to put them on, standing right in front of her so she wouldn't fall. I woke Beau up, so he would have time to wake up fully before I left the house. He got up and started putting clothes on, covering the other side of the bed in case she darted off that way (she's a quick little bugger these days). Then, I dropped  my wedding ring. I was afraid it had fallen in the cats' food bowl, so I bent down to find it quickly before it became kitty breakfast, since Beau was RIGHT THERE, and I was RIGHT THERE. As I was on my hands and knees searching, my poor daughter landed in front of me with a thud. Then, she burst into tears, and so did I.

In the few minutes that ordeal took, I was sure she had a concussion, internal bleeding, that something was certainly broken and that we would need to go to the ER. And even if we didn't I was quitting my job, because I was NEVER LEAVING HER AGAIN. Ever. Beau talked me down, though, and despite my reluctance was shuffled out the front door, in tears. I have only checked on her maybe 10 times today, and have kept myself busy enough not to see what Dr. Google, Harbinger of Doom had to say about it.

They say it happens to everyone at least once. I guess it is so we have the "you were dropped on your head" story to tell when she is older and going batshit crazy about something. I guess I can check that off my list.

I leave you with this. Imagine this face screaming bloody murder at you and tell me you wouldn't have a breakdown.

 

Yeah, that's what I thought.