So, I hobbled into the bathroom yesterday. Walking is sooo much fun with stitches in your abdomen. There's fun, and then there's FUN, and then, there's walking with stitches. I'm right there, in the prime of life.
As I was sitting, I observed a fly in the bathroom. I knew, right then, that we were in deep, deep trouble.
Emma is petrified of flies. No, wait, let me elaborate. PETRIFIED. She screams and shouts, cries and carries on as if the fly was 700 pounds and 6 feet tall. I knew that if I'd opened the door, the fly would escape and we'd all be in for an hour of hysteria. So, I did the only thing I could think of - I called for backup. Unfortunately, the only one around was, you guessed it, Emma.
"Hey, Emma. Can you bring me the fly swatter? Just slide it under the door, ok?"
She stood by the door, clearly suspicious. "Why? What do you want the fly swatter for? Is there a fly in there?" I could here the distrust in her voice. "Mommy? Is there a (pause, pause) fly in the bathroom?"
As I was sitting, I observed a fly in the bathroom. I knew, right then, that we were in deep, deep trouble.
Emma is petrified of flies. No, wait, let me elaborate. PETRIFIED. She screams and shouts, cries and carries on as if the fly was 700 pounds and 6 feet tall. I knew that if I'd opened the door, the fly would escape and we'd all be in for an hour of hysteria. So, I did the only thing I could think of - I called for backup. Unfortunately, the only one around was, you guessed it, Emma.
"Hey, Emma. Can you bring me the fly swatter? Just slide it under the door, ok?"
She stood by the door, clearly suspicious. "Why? What do you want the fly swatter for? Is there a fly in there?" I could here the distrust in her voice. "Mommy? Is there a (pause, pause) fly in the bathroom?"
I groaned inwardly and said, with as much excitement as I could fake, "Oh, it's ok, just bring me the flyswatter. I'll get it and there's no way it can get you. I PROMISE!"
She scurried off, the thought of imminent death for the fly evidently making her a happy camper. Under the door came the swatter, and immediately, she clamored, "Didja get it? Didja? Huh? Mommy, Mommy, I don't hear anything!" Still sitting - there's no business like show business - I instructed her to go outside NOW and I'd call her when the bug had been vanquished. I stood and watched the fly for a minute - this was one fast fly, a fly on steroids, capable of flying for minutes at a time with no need for rest. It landed on the sink, and I swatted. Missed. I watched it for another minute, and subsequent attempts to kill it were unsuccessful as well.
"Mommy?' Oh, man, she was back. "I've almost got it, sweetie!" Wait, there it was. The stupid fly landed above the shower head. It was still for a longer length of time than at any other spot, and so I thought I'd get it. Without thinking - let me repeat that, at no time did I engage the use of my brain - I lifted my leg and stood up on the side of the tub, in order to reach the top of the shower head. Immediately, I saw stars and felt pain. Yes, I'd jumped up on the tub with stitches, with no thought in my head except Kill.The.Fly. I'd climbed up on the tub with no way or desire to get down, and worst of all, I missed the fly. I stood there for a second and thought about the way I'd explain to my doctor that I'd ruptured my stitches while killing a fly.
I apparently didn't learn from this effort, because a minute later, I found myself RIGHT BACK UP THERE - without thinking, I repeated the single most painful activity of the day. "Yes, Dr. B? Sorry to bother you, but I appear to have ruptured my stitches by engaging in insect genocide."
She scurried off, the thought of imminent death for the fly evidently making her a happy camper. Under the door came the swatter, and immediately, she clamored, "Didja get it? Didja? Huh? Mommy, Mommy, I don't hear anything!" Still sitting - there's no business like show business - I instructed her to go outside NOW and I'd call her when the bug had been vanquished. I stood and watched the fly for a minute - this was one fast fly, a fly on steroids, capable of flying for minutes at a time with no need for rest. It landed on the sink, and I swatted. Missed. I watched it for another minute, and subsequent attempts to kill it were unsuccessful as well.
"Mommy?' Oh, man, she was back. "I've almost got it, sweetie!" Wait, there it was. The stupid fly landed above the shower head. It was still for a longer length of time than at any other spot, and so I thought I'd get it. Without thinking - let me repeat that, at no time did I engage the use of my brain - I lifted my leg and stood up on the side of the tub, in order to reach the top of the shower head. Immediately, I saw stars and felt pain. Yes, I'd jumped up on the tub with stitches, with no thought in my head except Kill.The.Fly. I'd climbed up on the tub with no way or desire to get down, and worst of all, I missed the fly. I stood there for a second and thought about the way I'd explain to my doctor that I'd ruptured my stitches while killing a fly.
I apparently didn't learn from this effort, because a minute later, I found myself RIGHT BACK UP THERE - without thinking, I repeated the single most painful activity of the day. "Yes, Dr. B? Sorry to bother you, but I appear to have ruptured my stitches by engaging in insect genocide."
What us moms will do for the littles...
Take care! No ruptured stitches! ;-)
Posted by: Headless Mom | May 22, 2008 at 11:18 PM
The things we do for our children...LOL! But...didja get the fly? ;)
Posted by: jen | May 22, 2008 at 11:29 PM
I am on your daughters side. I made mine get out of bed, home sick with a terrible flu, and kill a spider for me. While I stood outside and shook in fear.
Hope you didn't actually rupture your stitches though.
Posted by: Kelley | May 23, 2008 at 07:29 AM
oh, gads, Carmen! You make me laugh! You definitely get "Mom of the Week"!
Posted by: Des | May 23, 2008 at 11:30 AM
Oh, ow ow ow. The second night we were home after Nemo was born, I fell asleep in bed while nursing him and dropped him on the floor. Instinct kicks in and I sprang from the bed shrieking to scoop up my new baby, completely oblivious to the stitches until the adrenaline wore off about a half hour later. Then, OMG. Pain like no other. Ow.
But you got the fly, no? So I guess it's good.
Posted by: FishyGirl | May 23, 2008 at 12:11 PM
You are a very good mother.
A crappy patient, but a wonderful mother.
Posted by: Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah | May 23, 2008 at 04:21 PM
Bad!!! BAD! these are the things like lifting a pile of 5 dishes that will tear out your stitches! behave yourself, or you'll have to do this surgery again. Yes I understand that kids are upset by bugs, next time find beer, pour it in a saucer, and leave it on the counter, the fly gets Buzzed and dies from too much beer
Posted by: Kyooty | May 24, 2008 at 07:57 AM
Oh no, I hope you heal up soon. Such an awkward spot for stiches.
Posted by: Marsha | May 24, 2008 at 01:08 PM