Yesterday, I had one wisdom tooth taken out. That one itty bitty little bugger that had grown in years after I “had my wisdom teeth taken out.”
With Mommy drugged up and mind in Lala land, Mini-me was left in the care of Paul aka Daddy. I thought (or knew) that surely at least one, if not ten disasters were bound to occur over the course of the day. After all, I’m the stay at/work from home mom, I’m a control freak and she’s our first and only child.
There were some minor mishaps.
I vaguely remember waking up from a foggy minded nap to find Mini-me wearing PJ bottoms that completely clashed with the rest of her outfit. An outfit that I had carefully put together pre-surgery. The reason: she chewed through a jelly pack at breakfast and it went all over that perfectly selected outfit.
Of course I flipped out, “Why is she wearing that?! It doesn’t match!!!” Blame the meds, I tell you. Blame the meds.
But to my amazement (and his credit), Paul was able to sing Mini-me to sleep for her afternoon nap (mind you, she’s a terrible sleeper) and he kept her well-fed (and clean) for the rest of the day. I even caught Mini-me feeding herself baby food from one of those organic pre-made pouches, without getting her clothes dirty.
Maybe it’s time for me to let go a little bit. Clearly Mini-me is ready.
I just don’t think I am yet.