Blog a la Cart

So I suppose, technically, these are all questionable LEGAL decisions too. Semantics.

My first chance at alienating all my readers:

Growing up my mother would occasionally throw out her back. Such an event would render her, essentially, paralyzed. Silly things, like say, bending over to pick up the morning paper on a chilly day, would often be the root cause of this debilitating state. As I’ve grown older, and my joints and limbs no longer function as nimbly as they once did, I’ve come to understand the utter horror and pain of having one’s body rendered useless. As I child, however, I could not comprehend the magnitude of such occurrences. Just as I failed to understand why whenever this event happened, I would come home from school to find a series of plastic baggies filled with little white pills on the kitchen table, accompanied by notes from my mother’s friends that read: “Hope this takes the edge off!”

Now, I’m not trying to paint my mother as some sort of prescription-pill junkie. NAY! She’s anything but. That woman was a genius! She had whatever prescription pain meds she might require available at the drop of a hat. How jealous am I! What I wouldn’t have given to have a Xanax at my fingertips today when I left my sweet baby girl ALONE with our hired STRANGER for FIVE WHOLE HOURS.

Instead, I wept for the first 30 minutes of my drive away from the house, coating my steering wheel in salty, anxiety-filled tears and guilt-ridden snot, and then spent the remaining time with my phone anxiously strapped to my hip, fearing that my child was starving (despite four FULL bottles in the fridge and a stomach the size of a grape) or crying herself to DEATH (because that totally happens. ALL THE TIME!). I may have needed two cocktails to take the edge off, and even so, nervously texted the sitter from the bathroom to ensure everything was going smoothly. It felt like drunk-dialing, except I wasn’t drunk, just irrationally and obsessively set on initiating communication with an unassuming individual.

Of course, I returned home to a joyously happy baby, and equally fresh and put-together looking sitter.

The explanation: Prozac. I mean, how ELSE could they be so at EASE, so laissez-faire, so BLISSFUL!? Why would my child leave me out of the loop?!

I’m already uncool. DAMN IT!

Lesson: Find me some friends suffering from chronic pain, anxiety issues, and depressive tendencies.

Attempt #2:

I drove today in the carpool lane.

With the baby seat in the car.

Covered with a blanket.

What is worth mentioning is that the baby was not with me during this journey.

Strategic? Yes. Questionable ethical decision? Probably. But if you had to face the 405 on a Friday afternoon during your first day sans adorable pooping, whining, hungry little Bug, you’d understand the risk and lapse in judgement. Those five hours were my freedom and I was not going to waste such precious minutes stuck in a smog-filled traffic jam with LA drivers on a CLOUDY day. (If you live in So’Cal, you SO know what I mean). The 405 IS the 7th circle of hell, so I couldn’t sink much lower. Am I right?! <cricket cricket> Bueller?

And third times a charm:

The Bug’s gone and hit the bottle. Hard. Look at her, all wasted off breast milk. And James had that one Coronita and look at him! Some role model. Passed out by 8:30pm. Rocking Friday night chez Cart, folks.