Score one for open-mouth-insert-foot moments.
We met with our small group from church tonight, who are really more like family to us. We’ve been through a lot together. Birth, death, illness, job loss, parenting struggles. We’ve really learned how to take care of each other well. One couple in our group, Aprel and David, are expecting Baby #2 any day now – and we were all discussing the differences between the arrival of #1 and #2.
I told the story that a friend of ours from residency (now a mom of five) had shared with me when our #2 was born. “If I could unload the top rack of the dishwasher,” she said, “it was a good day.” I laughed…until the day that I unloaded the top rack of the dishwasher. And that was all I did. And it was a good day.
Oy. Those days were a beating.
Anyway, during our time together tonight, we were talking about how with your firstborn, you’re so overwhelmed because you don’t know what you’re doing, and you don’t know anything about babies, and you don’t know what is normal and what is not.
With the second born, you are more confident in what you are doing, but the challenge comes in simultaneously taking care of more than one child – and yourself. (Which, if you have more than one child, you know that taking care of yourself is waaaaay low on the priority list. Showers become a luxury.)
But, I told them, you’re not freaking out at every little thing because you know how to take care of a baby. You know that every little illness is not a brain tumor.
At that exact moment, I abruptly stopped. I covered my mouth. I turned the brightest shade of red humanly possible without excessive sun exposure. I apologized.
David, of course, has had – and survived – a brain tumor.
Thankfully, he has a very good sense of humor about the whole thing. And the second time he had cancer, too. He and Aprel can laugh about it. I’m so glad they can laugh about it. Soooo glad they can laugh about it. And laugh at me. They thought my foot-eating comment was hysterical. As did the rest of the group. Me? I’m utterly humiliated. This kind of thing is why I’ve turned into such an introvert. It’s better for everyone if I just don’t talk.
I’ll just sit here quietly and chew on my flip-flops.