Try to understand the self-control that it takes an overly pregnant wife to not say “I told you so” to a totally deserving husband. I win all the awards.

Today was a crazy day. I knew it would be and requested that the father figure not work today. Which stunned his employers since he always works and always takes extra work. No worries, he clearly saw how much he was needed.

I

t started with a doctor’s appointment.  Not of my choosing. They actually called me to mention that X-Man’s 18 month checkup had yet to be scheduled, although X-Man had passed the eighteen month mark a few months ago. So did I want to schedule one? Now honestly the answer was “heck no to the tenth degree” but as I already had the doctor office calling me, aware that I had forgotten about one child’s health, and as I had made three out of four of my own doctor appointments the day before, I figured I was treading on thin ice. So I said “sure.”

So, I booked the appointment close the class time the three other kiddos had, in an attempt to save time and sanity. It ended up backfiring. And I knew that my hands would be overflowing, so I roped the father figure in to corralling the fruit of his loins.

Now, while the father figure is helpful in all the father figure type duties, he is distinctly not helpful when it comes to getting children out the door. Or anywhere, on time. In fact, he harshes my fairly punctual groove. And he did again today.

I take partial responsibility because I relented on my insistence that we leave an hour early. I insist on the hour, because that gets me forty minutes to reach my destination. But I accommodated the father figure and shaved the departure time down to the absolute minimum. So, we left five minutes later than we were supposed to.

I will admit to a second error, which was mentioning to the father figure, as we traveled in the left hand lane, under the speed limit  (thanks PT Cruiser), that we had thirteen minutes to reach our destination. And so, the father figure sprang into action. And by springing, I mean he crossed over to the far right hand lane to pass the cars that were indeed all traveling under the speed limit, while he himself exceeded the speed limit by ten miles. Which I, helpful as always, pointed out to him. Which he, appreciative as always, responded “I know what I’m doing.”

You know who else knew what he was doing? That’s right. A State Patrol Officer. I didn’t see the officer flip on his lights in his well concealed undercover car; I was too busy sitting there with my eyes closed. But I definitely heard the “aw crap” from the father figure. And I knew.

I realized afterwards that I need to remove all the old insurance cards from the glove box, because I actually handed the officer one that expired last year. And I gave him two different registrations. Not that he even looked at them. Nope, he started with the whole “know why I stopped you?” which the father figure had to admit he did have an inkling. The officer then launched in to his thoughts on the matter “Well, I saw you get frustrated with the car that was in the left hand lane, and a lot of people don’t know the law that you aren’t supposed to travel in the left hand lane, especially under the speed limit. So you passed him and got up to 80 and then you probably missed where the speed limit changes to 60.” Father figure is nodding along and I’m sitting there thinking “Dude you are so trying bail him out.” He stuck his head in my window and look at the hardened criminals sitting in the car, Baba was studiously not making eye contact by working on schoolwork, X-Man wasn’t wearing a shirt and was wearing his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Mac sitting in a ball and Baby was beaming at him. His question “How ya’ll doin’ today?” went unanswered, although X-Man did offer him some sandwich. He turned back to the father figure and me and asked “Where you headed?” Now, this is where a tad bit of luck hit us. See Gestating Cinco was sitting loud and proud and decided that she should be part of this family experience. She thrashed impressively, which pushed her out even more so. And I honestly replied “The doctor.” He smiled and handed everything back and said “I’m certain that you will be driving the speed limit from here on out.” The father figure affirmed emphatically. I glanced at the officer and said “I’ll make sure he does.” And we were on our way.

The father figure assumed that the officer was sympathetic to his plight. I assumed that the officer figured that the rest of the trip with a pregnant wife who was obviously annoyed was punishment enough. I have yet to say “I told you so” although I did say that the whole pregnant wife shtick had an expiration date. I did tell him I knew what I would be blogging on that night.

I could write about the doctor visit, with the six page form they forgot to mail to me with all sorts of development questions. One of which was asking if I had showed X-Man how to use other object to reach the ones he had his heart set on. Maybe it was actually an IQ test for me. I could talk about how X-Man showed his enthusiasm for vaccines with a smelly reaction, but no tears, while the diaper bag sat in the car. Or how I rushed everyone to their classes, only to think they were canceled until the person I called to  check the scheduled pointed out I was there a half hour early.

But that takes away from the fact I have yet to say “I told you so” to the father figure. Although this blog might really interfere with my high road taking. 

This is an older story, but I'm only now ready to share. 

The father figure’s birthday is six days before Christmas. Due to the nature of his work schedule, he’s never around in the days before Christmas.  So when we meet for his birthday dinner, it’s inevitably late and I am driving a car full of children myself. And when we leave his birthday dinner, it is inevitably later and I am driving a car filled with hyper children. So some things might just fall through the cracks. Nothing too important. I have never left a child. But I may or may not have forgotten to turn on my lights. Being so very close to Christmas, the DUI patrols are out in full force and lest I go three feet before realizing that my lights are indeed still in the upright and fixed position, Vancouver’s finest are there to assist. And of course, the one time I do this, I am also a full five minutes pregnant. Actually more like six weeks, but who’s counting? Certainly not any small persons. So there I am, with flashing blue lights behind me, frantically searching for my proof of insurance and registration. While yelling all sorts of threats to the small persons who are bellowing all sorts of questions to me. I can count on the oldest to be quiet and helpful. I can count on Baby to be Baby. Also sorts of helpful.

“Evening ma’m.”

“hello officer” He’s already doing a head count, that should help the sympathy factor.

“Know why I pulled you over tonight?”

“I’m guessing it was the failure to turn on my lights.”

“yes ma’am. You been drinking tonight?”

No sir.” I refrained from adding “even with all the extra passengers I have.”

Baby, however, saw no such need to refrain and volunteered  “you were drinking at dinner mom!”

Having an audience, I refrained from screaming “and that’s why Santa WILL NEVER return to our house!!!”

Rather, I smiled awkwardly and said, in my mother of the year voice “He doesn’t mean water honey, he means alcohol.” I bat my eyes at the officer communicating the absolute delight that children bring to your life.

“Oh yeah, and you can’t drink alcohol because it is bad for the baby.” Sigh, ok, this might not be the worst possible ever.

At this point Mac seems to realize that he could be speaking and isn’t and that he should remedy this. “Why is it bad for the baby? Why is it bad for kids?”

At this point the officer was moved by compassion and decided to  head back to his car and run my license. I maintained my mother of the year persona, knowing that I was a hair’s breath away from being jailed on assault charges. There were more question, more answers and the police officer returned.

He smiled, returned my license and wished me good evening. I, through clenched teeth, offered, “It can’t go downhill from here” Which the moment I said it, I realized  that since he hadn’t actually given me a ticket, it could indeed go downhill.

I made it five more minutes before having to pull over to vomit. Morning sickness my enlarged rear! I’ve always wondered what the officer’s reaction would have been I done so on his shoes. I was this close.