We finally get to school and I see that all of the other mothers had the energy to actually brush their hair and put on clothes. This reminds me of my general inadequacy, and then I suddenly feel guilty that my son will have to experience life without a perfect parent. And, alas! Now my day sucks. I could resolve to have a productive day at work in an effort to boost my self-esteem. But, somehow, I feel inclined to do something that actually makes me feel better, like bitch about my mother-in-law.
My mother-in-law. For the sole purpose of my selfish enjoyment, we'll call her "Margaret", because it is the name of the mother from the movie Carrie. I'll take you back to the week that Margaret stayed with us following the birth of our son. I've tried valiantly to repress the memories of her repeated attempts to feed my newborn bottles of water ("because he's THIRSTY!") or apply chapstick to his day-old lips or even how she insisted on mixing in yogurt with his bottles of breast milk. Nevermind the fact that she "accidentally" let our dog run out of the front door and failed to bring it to our attention for a full five minutes. No, the real nail in the (unfortunately) proverbial coffin was the following dialogue:
Margaret (holding baby, looking
Just in case you're wondering; wily, adjective: skilled at gaining an advantage, especially deceitfully. Yep, that crazy bitch took a dig at me, in front of me, to my newborn son!! I distantly remember my husband shooing me out of the room as I tried to recall the exact application of the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. Maybe he saw me flexing my palm in anticipation, maybe he just sensed that we were on the verge of an apocalyptic breakdown. Either way, he appropriately removed me from her evil realm and reminded me that they don't give you Chardonnay on Death Row. I hate it when he's right.