when it comes to dealing with picky eaters, this is what I learned:
a.) no one really knows how to deal with them.
b.) make sure they take their vitamins.
c.) um, that was all.
so, instead of letting it consume my every waking thought and every living, breathing moment, every second of every single day, I'm just going to pray that I live to see Rowan eat salad. (is that asking too much?) and then keel over from shock when he does. amen.
and now on to today's featured post.
most embarrassing moment. hmmm. I've had quite a few over the years, but the one that I cringe about the most took place shortly after the birth of my third child, which would be Chloe, if I remember correctly. (do you guys ever forget the birth order of your children? LOL. actually, what I was getting at is this: do you ever find yourself recalling past events based off of either a.) who you were pregnant with at the time of said event or b.) who you had just given birth to? for example: that happened around the time I was expecting Jake. or wait, was it Myra? or no, it had to be Ella. well, I'm pretty sure I was pregnant anyway.) I tend to see it as a benefit to those of us with many children. kind of like a crutch-- so we don't have to remember years and dates and stuff. but, I digress.
flashback to the year 1999. (hold on a sec. was I even old enough to have three kids in 1999? let's see, that was 12 years ago... so 34 minus 12 da da dumm da.. holy cow, I was 22! man that seems like eons ago. so yeah, I guess I WAS old enough. albeit just barely out of diapers.)
another interesting factoid: when I had my third child, my oldest was 2. like wha..? how's that supposed to work? sorry, I'm not going to delve into that right now.
okay, so it's September something something 1999. I am at the something something clinic in Monticello, Minnesota for my six week postpartum check up. oh joy. I am signing in at the front desk.
just then, my OB doc walks in from the back to speak with the receptionist about something. I notice he is impeccably dressed; he has on a suit, tie, the whole shebang. I pause mid-signature to admire the get-up, my mouth falling agape as I do so. I might have even drooled a bit. wow, I think to myself, he sure looks debonair, as this is the first time I have ever seen him dressed in anything besides mint green scrubs.
he looks over at me standing there and asks, "hey! how are things going with the new little one?" "uh, fff-ine, we're doing well," I manage to stammer out, still a bit caught off guard from seeing him in the fancy attire. (where were the mint green scrubs I'd grown accustomed to seeing him in during the course of my pregnancy? what was up with the suit?) and then. THEN. do you even want to know what I said to him next? of course you do. it was these seven humiliating words:
"you sure look different with clothes on."
um yeah, MORTIFYING. (more like he should've been the one telling me that, right? ;)
I am now sixteen shades of red.
|here's my diaper-clad contortionist making a fool of himself. silly boy!|
in Blue Lily speak, hilario!
PS. you don't have to blog about your embarrassing moment in order to enter. I just did because... because... I'm not sure why.