Cassie is mom to Trey (age 2), rounding out the end of her first trimester with baby number two, and married to perfectionist, Craig. Cassie works part time in direct sales for a high end candle company and Craig is an attorney. Monday is Trey’s first day of Mother’s Day Out. These are their stories.
“ZZZzzzzzzzz” the buzzing sound of Craig’s electric razor wakes me up every morning. Yes, I am pregnant and have a toddler, but it’s my husband’s neuroses that rip me from the Sandman every morning. I am twelve weeks pregnant tomorrow, but feel about thirty this second go around. BUT! But, today is Trey’s first day of Mother’s Day Out. I can drop him off and have five blissful hours to straighten the house, get some work done to please my upline, and maybe finally do that prenatal yoga DVD fossilizing in my living room. The world is my oyster…well, if I could eat oysters.
I snap the obligatory first day of school photo where Trey looks like he is simultaneously being tortured and preparing for a career as an serial killer. I quickly upload to Instagram, tagging Craig, while wondering why toddlers have an aversion to normal smiles that rivals my fetus’s aversion to all meat. I walk him in prepared for tears and “Don’t leave me, Mommy” only to be met with the cold shoulder. I have the least clingy toddler of all times.
I am going to go through Starbucks, in the middle of the day!! Reckless! I love it. I did a little work on my phone in the parking lot of the school (after a good hormonal cry) so I am already feeling productive. That and I need a super sugary, chemical laden coffee dessert, since now that *eyeroll* Craig is keto and *eyeroll* just loving it, bulletproof coffee is the only coffee in our home. Le sigh. At least it’s better than his cabbage diet phase. He stunk. And since I’m among friends, his current abs and my current hormones have been *cough cough* good for our relationship.
I pried my eyes open to my phone chiming incessantly. Who knew it was possible to sleep that hard after a giant coffee. Pregnant girls, that’s who. Apparently, Mallory had to call the police on the boys today in the hardware store parking lot. Poor Mal, always embarrassing herself. Oh crap! I have to be at the school in seven minutes. I have to beat all of the Lulu clad (yet also perfectly made up) moms into the school.
With a screech of my breaks, I ramble into the school realizing I am wearing my house shoes (the ones that Muffin, our St. Bernard chewed up but I love too much to toss) with my carefully selected “casual chic” mom dress. Oh well, maybe no one will notice. I collect my child and his incessant personalized PB kids crap that Craig insisted I purchase so that we looked “appropriate” for school. His sweet, albeit a little bit matronly, teacher pulls me aside and all the color drains from my face. Of course in lean all of the perfectly manicured, blonde, gossip loving, suburban driving, future PTA running SAHMs. Oh no! He hit. He bit. He shit. He did something even worse than my incredibly vivid imagination can fathom. Surreptitiously, his teacher, after a too long glance at my slippers, hands me a zip lock bag. “This, dear, was wrapped up in Trey’s nap mat.” Contained in that mini sandwich bag was a hot pink lacey thong with the word “SEXY” written in rhinestones across the butt. Cause of death: Embarrassment.
Happy Monday, Cassie.