I’m thirty-four years old and really…I should know better. But I don’t. ‘
I just had ankle surgery on Friday. I have a five-month old baby.
My original plan was to have this surgery done last summer. Let it by said, I shouldn’t be allowed to make a plan of any kind without adult supervision. We don’t call my mom “The Captain” for her willingness to relinquish control of the schedule.
She planned. We followed. I’m helpless.
Needless to say, my foolproof plan was promptly blown out of the water by a little thing called childbirth.
So my rationale for having surgery on Friday was this: Get it done before Jeffrey gets mobile. Made perfect sense–BUT HE CAN’T WALK!
Of course I needed my mom.
“The Captain” was already on it. She had schedules mapped, responsibilities delegated, transportation coordinated, menus planned and made.
She had entertainment booked. I hadn’t even scheduled the surgery.
After spending five days with her, I’m thoroughly convinced mom is fully capable of launching a full-scale military operation before 5 A.M. I can’t find my ass with both hands.
So I ask you this, WHY would I think it was a good idea to leave her house and handle these post-surgery logistics on my own? Because I’m a damn fool. That’s why.
I’ve traded hot meals served-bedside-in-anticipation-of-my impending-hunger for cereal in a cup. I’ve traded fresh, fruity, protein-rich, high in calcium and healing power smoothies for overripe bananas.
I wanted to put on my big girl pants and do this all by myself???
Well here I am eating humble pie, Captain.
You told me so.
I should always listen to you because YOU ARE MY MOTHER, and I am a jackass.
***I would also like to take a moment to thank my mother-in-law for taking care of our son today. Without her I’d still be crawling across the floor on my hands and knees, dragging Jeffrey across the floor on his changing pad.***
What a big girl I am.