Excuse me while I curl up into a little ball of stress and explode. Ahhhh… that’s better. In the sense that discorporeal is better, at this point.
Now would be a good time for the New York Times or Newsweek or some other news organization eager to let you know that “THIS JUST IN: Being a Mom Means You Are Conflicted” to come talk to me.
Let’s review the numbers, shall we?
How long I’ve been at my new job: 3 weeks
Number of hours left before the person I’m going to cover for leaves on vacation: 7
Time I showed up at work yesterday with a sick child in tow: 7:40
Number of videos I’d brought to entertain child: 6
Time my boss ordered us to go home: 8:10
Time I returned to work after transferring sick kid to his father: 1:20
Time it became apparent this morning that said kid was still unwell: 6:12
Number of hours school was delayed this morning: 2
Number of times I yelled during those 2 hours: *this number censored*
Number of times I have so far today hyperventilated over the thought of not making it in to the office: 2
Number of work emails I’ve received so far this morning: 19
Number of times I have offered a juice box to the sick child, because fluid! is good! and makes you better!: 5
Ounces of juice he has consumed: 1
Number of schemes I have so far devised to get in to the office today: 6
Number of those schemes which are feasible: 1. Maybe.
Number of times I’ve wondered how the heck single parents work full time: eleventy billion