Sunday, February 15, 2015

Personal Responsibility

Thank you all for your support and jubilation regarding my last post. We are in full on overload, but look forward to sharing more about our upcoming arrival. In the interim, I am still living life as usual. This, despite the fact that none of my pants fits and I haven't had a glass of wine since late last year. The struggle is real.

Morgan has also gone back to life as usual. She is totally over the fact that May continues to be several months away and is totally exasperated by the fact that her baby sister isn't here and ready to play Barbies. She has no idea just how useless this new baby is going to be.

As David and I are finally starting to realize this baby is going to need a place to sleep, we have been busier than usual in cleaning and organizing (not that either of those efforts are going well). Morgan has been left to her own devices more than usual, which often results in 287 wardrobe changes and every one of my heels pulled out of the closet.

Last weekend, I noticed that Morgan had been unusually quiet for an inordinate amount of time, which is always a recipe for disaster. My panic was compounded by the fact that I realized she was in the bathroom. With the door closed. And the water was running. For those of you who are parents, you know that moment. The moment when you realize that you could be walking in on an empty roll of toilet paper, a wholly squeezed tube of toothpaste, and an overflowing toilet.

Just then, she opened the door. I looked in, scanning the room for any signs of impending doom. Nothing. The room was clean, the floor was dry. But she had been in there for so long, I knew something was amiss.

"Morgan, what were you doing in the bathroom for so long?"

"Actually, I'd rather not say."

"Is everything okay? I heard the water running."

"Oh yeah, it's just fine."  The less she discloses, the more suspicious I become. Always.

"Alright kiddo, you need to tell me what you were doing in there for so long."

"Okay, I will tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Of course." (Yes, I realize posting this makes me a liar, but she doesn't have access to the Internet yet, so I have some time before she realizes I betrayed her.)

"Well...(insert, long dramatic pause), I was in the bathroom and I was washing my hands, and I did something I shouldn't have. I said a grown up word."

"What?" Mind you, I can see the beads of sweat forming on her little forehead, her legs fidgeting nervously as she shifted from one to another. This shit was serious.

"Well...(insert another long dramatic pause), I was washing my hands and I accidentally said the F-word."

"You did? You accidentally said the F-word? How did that happen?"

"I'm not really sure, Mom. But don't worry, I went ahead and washed my own mouth out with soap."

I have never, ever, washed this child's mouth out with soap. In fact, it's not even on our list of idle threats. I am either instilling a strong sense of personal responsibility in her or have completely failed as a mother. Or both, which is the mostly likely scenario. And yeah, we're bringing another one into the world.