There isn’t a time that something goes wrong that I don’t immediately think “I need to call my Mom”.
Mom’s always know what to do.
Just this past week, I’ve called my mom for multiple incidents.
Callan hit his mouth on the chair and his lip is bleeding. Yes, I’m a nurse. No, I can’t remember anything that I’m supposed to do and I feel like a horrible Mom.
My boob hurts. Pretty sure its a clogged duct. Do clogged ducts make you feel close to death? Should I just drink wine and go to sleep? Okay then.
Is it normal for my 4 year old to want to be spending so much time in the bathroom, umm, hanging out? So when I tell him to stop touching it, do I have to say the word penis?
You know how Callan gags himself? Well, he’s thrown up 3 times today. Is there such a thing as baby bulimia? Should I stop telling him he’s a chunker?
My biggest concern is where all this vast knowledge comes from. I mean, I’m a Mom, but I can’t answer these questions. There sure didn’t implant me with the chip holding all the smarts when I left the hospital.
So I’m just hoping that someday, I’ll get my act together and can be Mom 411 for my kids. Or that they have really smart Mother-in-laws they can call instead.
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