Confessions of a Domestic Failure

I should have known things were going to be bad when Aubrey screamed the whole fifteen-minute ride to the store. By the time we arrived my nerves were already fried. After parking the car I did my best to do what Emily Walker calls “be present for your child’s needs.” She didn’t want her pacifier. She didn’t want her blanket. Her diaper was dry. She didn’t want a teething cracker. I even waved my phone in front of her face and she took it alright, then threw it out of the open car window. The screen now has a tiny crack up the side. Fantastic.

“Do you want to stretch your legs, honey?” I cooed to her as she let out another feral holler. Yes, that’s it. Once we’re inside, she’ll calm down.

For my baby shower I received one of those huge shopping cart covers that are supposed to prevent your child from getting cholera from other people’s kids. I’ve been using it religiously, but even that had to go horribly wrong.

Aubrey was still screaming like her hair was on fire for the few seconds it took me to grab an abandoned shopping cart. As I opened the trunk to pull out the cholera-prevention cover, I must have been frazzled, because it slipped out of my hands and onto the cement.

That wouldn’t have been such a terrible thing, but of course I had to have parked in the only spot that was directly over a huge puddle of brown, murky water with a thin gasoline-film rainbow over the top and what looked like a plastic bag full of vomit. I picked up the cover as quickly as I could, but it was already half sopping wet with putrid muck. No way was I putting my kid in that thing. Who knew what was in that water? Flesh-eating bacteria? I couldn’t leave it in my car. I stuffed it into a nearby garbage can.

By that time, Aubrey’s wails had settled down to desperate little hiccups, so I quickly cleaned the cart handle with a baby wipe before placing her inside. By “placing” her, I mean practically forcing her squirming, defiant little body to sit down and then doing my best to strap her in.

My luck continued when I noticed that not only was one side of the strap hard, caked with some sort of film, the other one was broken.

It took three more tries before I found a cart with functioning straps. Who are all of these kids breaking shopping cart straps with their Hulk muscles and bare werewolf teeth? And what are you spilling on them? Glue?

Aubrey’s hiccups started to gear back into an angry cry as I sprinted through the store, haphazardly throwing things into the cart. Between speeding down aisles and yelling “No” every time she tried to peel off her shoes, I had no idea what I was buying. I’d made a grocery list, but it was in the car and there was no way I was starting all over.

Twenty-five minutes and two family-sized bags of tortilla chips, produce I’ll probably never eat, overpriced chicken breasts, two frozen lasagnas and who knew what else later, we were done.

Standing in the line, Aubrey began looking at me strangely. Her eyes went blank and her head fell back a little before...she barfed. Projectile vomited, all the way down my shirt. Everyone in my immediate vicinity gasped and leapt away.

Ten to fifteen seconds passed before I could fully absorb what just happened. Aubrey just stared at me, looking somewhat relieved.

“Ma’am? Can I...get you a paper towel?” said the checker who couldn’t have been a day over seventeen. He can thank me later for the free birth control.

“Yes,” I stammered, fully aware that I had an audience of close to twenty people who seemed unable to look away. “A few would be great.”

I did my best to clean myself up. All Aubrey needed was a dab on the chin; she’d managed to keep herself completely barf free. After the paper towels were all in a plastic garbage bag, a friendly mom shopping with her two toddlers handed me a container of disinfectant wipes.

“Keep them,” she said, smiling sympathetically at me.

When we finally got home, I peeled off my shirt and called the nurses’ hotline.

“If she doesn’t have a fever, you don’t have anything to worry about,” the nurse told me matter-of-factly. “These things just happen.”

“How often, do ‘these things just happen,’ exactly?” I asked dryly, sipping a cold glass of white wine as Aubrey splashed her bathwater with her palms. “I’d like to be prepared next time.”

She laughed, not realizing I was serious.

When David arrived home a few minutes after I put Aubrey down, I was sitting on the couch with another glass, dazed out in front of a reality show featuring moms as rich as they were childish.

“Hi, babe, how was your day?” He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, then scrunched up his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Motherhood.”





Sunday, February 17, 1 P.M.

Positive Affirmation of the Day: Mama-hood fills me with joy! I am a goddess who radiates hope, wisdom, and maternal beauty!

—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better Almost a full month into the Motherhood Better Bootcamp I have lost no weight, my hair is still falling out like it’s offended by my scalp, and Aubrey knows zero sign language while Ella is up to forty-five words and has her own YouTube channel. Joy says she has 300 subscribers and is being scouted by baby modeling agencies.

I am a complete loser.

Off to drown my sorrows in a bag of chips. Chips always understand.





Monday, February 18, 10 A.M.

I don’t know what I’d do without my group of mommy friends. There are ten of us in our village and we aren’t just best buddies, we’re sisters. We spend so much time together that even our housekeepers are friends now.

—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

The fourth Motherhood Better Bootcamp video conference is this morning. Aubrey woke up at 4 a.m., so by 8 a.m. she was in a deep sleep. I placed her in her crib and by some miracle she didn’t wake up. If it were any other day I’d immediately lie down on the couch and pass out until her cries woke me up, but I rushed to put on a bit of foundation and lip gloss.

Over the past few calls, I’d noticed something: each time, the other moms looked more and more put together. For the first one, everyone was in raggedy ponytails and had the same dark circles under their eyes I know so well. For the second one, hair was brushed and clean, lips were tinted. And then, suddenly, the moms looked like they’d been airbrushed: straightened or expertly curled hair, full makeup, no clutter in the background. We looked better, but I couldn’t help but wonder if we felt better. We were in full-blown silent competition with each other.

I looked in the mirror and decided that a moderately clean black tank top, sweatpants that nobody would see, powder and plum gloss were going to have to do it today. I pulled back my hair into a bun. Not bad.

I opened my computer and logged in. It was only a few seconds before I heard Emily Walker’s voice sing over my speakers.

“Aloha everyone!” The camera zoomed into focus and there was Emily, lying out on a beach chair in a gold bikini. She was holding some kind of selfie-stick-type camera that allowed her to pan right and left. Beside her were three other women in blue, red and white barely-there swimsuits, looking perfect.

I glanced down at my sweats.

“I’m coming to you live from the island of Kaio! My three best friends and I are here for the next few days enjoying a little break from my whirlwind book tour! The dads are officially on duty—am I right, ladies?”

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