They say you should always leave the house looking your best because you never know what could happen, and if you know me in person, you know that this is not a piece of advice I take to heart. But maybe I should, because then I wouldn't have found myself standing in the checkout line at the grocery store wearing, essentially, pajamas--ill-fitting Adidas shorts and a boxy college tshirt, a ponytail, naturally, since I had only planned to drop the kids off and hit the store before going home--and scanning the headlines on People magazine thinking "I'm going to miss reading People at the OB's office" then thinking "OH CRAP! THE OB'S OFFICE!" because I had completely forgotten about the appointment I had for this morning at 9:45.
I checked my phone. It was 9:45!
Crap crap crap! I willed (mentally) the checker to hurry and she did but as she was bagging up my food we both noticed a pack of Italian sausage that had fallen under the carseat and I had to check out a second time. Finally around 9:50 I was in my car ready to go and thanking myself of three years ago that I had chosen a doctor's office so close to my house, FOR THIS VERY REASON. I was going to be about ten minutes late, but I figured I'd earned enough on-time karma in my three years of on time or early arrivals that it wouldn't be a big deal.
(Plus: SIX WEEK OLD BABY. You can do whatever you want when you have a six week old baby. Like almost steal Italian sausage, cry at work, go to Sonic in your pajamas, and carry your two-year-old fireman style across the preschool parking lot when he refuses to cooperate. If you do that last one, someone will even FEEL SORRY FOR YOU AND COME OUT TO HELP.)
I was ten minutes late, but I still felt the need to falsify my check in time to make myself only five minutes late (SIX WEEK OLD BABY).
And then I sat down to wait. And wait. And change a really disgusting diaper on my lap. And then they told me that my doctor had run across the street to deliver a baby "real quick" and that I should go back to an exam room to wait.
Which is how I found myself nursing my SIX WEEK OLD BABY sitting on an exam table with nothing on but the shirt I slept in and a square yard of paper sheet that I nearly ripped in half accidentally while trying to adjust it (you can't cover both the front and the back. you just can't). And a ponytail that never should have left the house.
Oh wait! I forgot that Ryan took a picture of me this morning. I call that look "Harried-chic".
(The reason Ryan took the picture is because he is amused at the way the kids turn into freaking barnacles every time I feed Mary. So cozy! Also kind of annoying. And sweet.)
While I waited I lied my way through the post-partum depression screen because "Are you tired and irritable?" Um YES, but not CLINICALLY. There was no box for "About as much as you'd expect given my current life-situation," so I was forced to guess at their intent when asking the question. "Do you fall asleep at inappropriate times?" Like the car line at the elementary school? Possibly. However, once again I don't really think that would be considered unexpected. "Are you forgetful?" LIKE THE WAY I FORGOT THIS APPOINTMENT? If the test had been on paper I would have written "SIX WEEK OLD BABY" across the top. And then likely dribbled a little breast milk on it. Everything is fine. Except my weight, of course.
I should probably take a shower, though.