It would be an A + except for the fact that I failed as a mother.
The day after the beautiful wedding of Danny and Tim we all headed out to Hanauma Bay to snorkel (a must do on the ol' bucket list) and despite keeping Max under a near constant mister of 10000 spf, he still got a sunburn. I got crazy burned, but what else is new. Big deal...but the baby getting sunburned? Total heart attack - I want-to-kill-myself-mom-failure.
He wasn't so much sunburned as sunkissed. Whatever you call it, he was a loverly shade of pink which only adds to the whole pudgy pigletness of him.
I swoon for that piglet.
Once he was stripped of his swimsuit and the beach was washed away, I basically freaked. It became increasingly clear that moms and dads just deal with things differently. Not that dads don't care; but it's just a boatload of difference. It went a bit like this:
Me: Oh no! Max has a little sunburn!
Zach: Oh, poor dude.
Me: Oh my God, how could this happen? I sprayed him constantly and put extra stuff on his face! My poor baby! He's so pink. We need some aloe. We have to get some aloe, we need it rightthisveryminute! Do you want to go or should I?
Zach: (turning on CNN) eh.
Me: ok, I'll go. Keep an eye on him. Do you think we should give him some Tylenol? Do you think he hurts?
Zach: he's ok, he's barely pink!
Me: I'll be right back.
At which point I race down to the hotel gift shop and practically assault the poor, sweet, 19 year old girl working behind the counter.
Me: Do you have Aloe? I need some Aloe, my baby has a suburn!
Her: Yeah sure, here you go.
Me: Do you maybe have one of those little whip things? You know the ones the Priests use to punish themselves? Like the Davinci Code?
Her: uh...we have a feathered gord for hula dancing.
Me: Can I beat myself up with that? Because I am like theworstmothereverandIletmybabygetsunburned.
Her: ummm, I don't think so. It's for dancing.
Me: What about a stamp that I could put smack dab on my forhead, that like says MOM FAIL or something? Oh! Or a T-shirt that says it. Like a scarlet letter of motherhood failure, to let everyone know how awful I am as like part of some pennance?
Her: We have conch shell necklaces.
She was right. That would be worse than a scarlet letter or a mom fail stamp across my forhead. *shudder* I couldn't bring myself to suffer the necklace of 1987 coolness and thus resolved to continue the (not so) silent berating of myself for being the worst.mother.ever. (tm).
Also, I made up all of that conversation past "do you have Aloe?" and" yeah, here you go."
But I felt it. I felt his sunburn as an utter failure. My husband? Well, he was obviously (and appropriately I might add) concerned but it didn't mark a complete failure of his skills in the fathering department.
And here's something they never tell you: your sweet baby might be allergic to a certain kind of sunblock. It might make his face red. You might then surmise that he is getting sun and apply more of it, until you realize it is not a burn, or a 'heat rash' as everyone is so quick to dismiss it, but in actuality a bad reaction to something you have been purposely applying to your child. Repeatedly.
I'll take that conch shell necklace now. Mea Culpa.
this hurts my soul.