I suspected something was “off” when I woke up this morning and couldn’t open my right eye.
Last night it had been bothering me but not so much I really noticed. So waking up to my lashes crusted shut with eye boogers was a surprise.
I sacrificed the few eye lashes I have left to getting the boogers off and opening the eye. (Where did my eye lashes go, anyway? I looked up one day a few weeks ago and realized they were gone! Is this a pregnancy by-product? I need new mascara or Tammy Faye Baker falsies.) The sight that greeted me was not pleasant.
My whole eyelid was swollen like a slug! I leered at my husband. He recoiled in shock and said, “What happened to you?!”
Fortunately I had a plan of attack. The last time we went to the pediatrician Tres got a prescription for antibiotic eye drops because her eye had gook in it. Trying to administer eye drops to a militant two-year-old worked about as well as putting Barney Fife on a championship bronc, so we gave up on the antibiotics after just one violent dropping session. Thus, the antibiotic eye drops have had a home in our refrigerator tucked in between the clove of garlic and tub of butter.
I misused the eye drops (don’t tell the pediatrician, please) and got a heating pad to put on my eye. After about 20 minutes I was feeling pretty good about how much the swelling had gone down and I told the big girls to get ready to go to their dentist’s appointment.
Uno looked at me critically. “What happened to your eye?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I told her. “I woke up this morning and it just looked this way.”
“Mommy, well, since you look so… well, weird… I was thinking maybe Daddy could take us to the dentist,” my firstborn child said. Nothing like a little self-esteem pick-me-up first thing in the morning.
I went to the dentist with my worm-eye. The girls were really good, so I took them to the Target $1 section to pick out a treat. Because Target isn’t a normal shopping store for us I took the time to scoot over to the maternity section and look for short-sleeved summer shirts. I found a few. I innocently took them to the dressing room. I took my kids with me to the dressing room.
I should have suspected Uno was short on tact today after she tried to throw me over for her more attractive father, but I was naïve. As I tried on my shirts she gave me a running commentary of what was wrong with the shirts and my body.
If you didn’t know, my stomach is enormous. My bottom is big and squishy. One shirt I tried on just didn’t look good on me, but another mom she knows would look pretty in it — just not me. Does every mommy grow black hair on their legs? Why do I have pimples on my chest? (I had no answer for this because I don’t think pimples on my chest are right, either. I’m blaming the baby and praying for divine intervention to clear it up.)
Suffice to say, I was feeling hot by the time I exited the dressing room.
Tres had taken her nap by the time I got home. She and I had bonding time and spent the rest of the day playing “tired baby tug-o-war,” punctuated by the occasional game of “Mine!”
It was glorious.
I finished the evening up with attendance at Girl’s Night with my minivan/Suburban crew. That made me happy, though the high point had to be taking a household item as a door prize and wrapping it in newspaper.
Class just oozes out of me. Kinda like the goop from my eye.
That was my day. It wasn’t particularly exciting, but, hey, we can’t all have days of Hollywood-esque glitz and glamour. I don’t want you to be jealous, either. That would be mean.
I’m now off to bed with my squishy bottom, pimply chest, and worm eye. And a prayer that tomorrow is… better!