I always make a promise to myself that I'm going to cherish every moment in every day because Ethan isn't going to be this age forever. I mean, heck, each day, he's older than the day before. But it was just so hard to cherish much about yesterday. There. I said it. Yesterday was brutal, though it had all the makings of a good day: Ethan slept in, I did my hair and slabbed on a minimal amount of make-up to hopefully avoid the "oh, you look tired" comments that come when I skip out on make-up, I had one of Ethan's favorite Stonyfield Organic yogurt smoothies waiting for him to wake up -- I mean, really, I started off the day feeling a little invincible. Once Ethan did wake up, he informed me that I was incorrect and it was most definitely a rotten day. Yeah, he bypassed "bad" completely and slipped right into "rotten." I don't think poor Ethan stopped crying the entire day -- unless it was just to whine. And where there is a crying, whining, unhappy toddler means there's likely a crying, whining unhappy mommy wondering what in the world she's doing wrong. (No? Just me?)
Yeah. Yesterday was tough. I proposed all of Ethan's favorite foods and activities only to be shot down in the form of a flat-on-the-floor tantrum. I surprised him with a date out for pizza, only for him to exclaim "no! BEANS! Moe's!" when his pizza arrived to the table. I whipped up a batch of moon paint in his color of choice -- which was yellow, until he saw the yellow and then flung himself on the floor screaming that he wanted blue. His favorite books, well, they were no longer his favorite. His backyard swingset? Well, who was I to insinuate that swinging and sliding was fun?! At four o'clock, it felt like it was ten o'clock at night and I realized Ethan had still refused to eat much of anything the entire day, his organic yogurt smoothie sitting untouched on his Tot School table. For a few hours in the late afternoon just before bedtime, we went on a bike ride in the park to get some fresh air and get out of the house. It was a trip that Ethan protested the entire drive to the park with a firm chant of "no bike. No. No bike." We parked the car, he took one look at the older children zooming around on their bikes and declared he wanted his bike. Ethan rode his bike around the entire park perimeter almost twice and we may or may not have spent the entire trip laughing and enjoying the beautiful breeze. It was the sweet relief in an otherwise unbearable day. Before bedtime, I promised Ethan that the next day -- today -- would be the best day ever. There would be no tears allowed, only laughter, only giggles and happiness and organic yogurt smoothies and joy.
And so today, we did whatever made us happy. We began the morning with a bike ride in the park. We stopped for Starbucks and Ethan was allowed to get a cake pop because he asked nicely and told the barista his name for his milk cup. We fed birds stale bread and then Ethan asked to go to the "kitty store." (Sanrio.) We rocked out to The Shins on the entire drive over, Ethan drumming on the sides of his carseat. We got to the "kitty store." Ethan got a tattoo, in honor of Saint Patrick's Day:
We even stopped at Lime, for the beans that Ethan had so badly wanted the night before during our Day That Shall Never Be Mentioned Again. We colored. We shared a bottle of water. We laughed. Ethan ate his entire bean burrito and a great deal of mine, too.
And then I threw my back out.
I'm still not sure what happened. Ethan had freed himself from the stroller as I was trying to pack us up to leave and I had grabbed him -- foiling his attempt to run into the street -- while also holding the stroller. Something in my back popped and everything in my line of vision swirled as pain just started swallowing me whole. I used the last bit of energy I could muster to buckle Ethan into his seat so that he would be safe regardless of I ended up sprawled out unconscious on the cement myself, gritting my teeth through the pain in an attempt to not startle or alarm him -- and then I broke down and lost my mind in hysterics while calling my parents to come rescue us.
The rest of my day has been spent in bed, trying to find a position that at least ranks less than a 9 in an out-of-10 pain measurement, listening to my husband try to both work from home in the living room and juggle Ethan's complete boredom in the process. Oh, and did I somehow leave out feeling disgusting amounts of mom guilt over having unintentionally sabotaged what was supposed to be our best day ever? Because there's that, and it's hurting my heart almost as badly as my back is currently throbbing down to my toes.