Slacker mom, part deux

In the middle of a long and painful conference call yesterday, I received four calls from the school on the other line. I could see the number come up again and again as I blathered on about product positioning, attribute drivers, focus group parameters and other things that in the end All Signify Nothing. Finally I put a dozen people on hold to call the school, only to learn that Shawn Joaquin was sitting in the secretary's office bleeding green mucus from his eyes. I made my excuses and ran out the door to pick him up. Completely unaware that my mascara from the day before, now residing under my eyes, was the only make up I had on and a hair brush had not been introduced to my head in at least 24 hours.

On my way there I made an appointment with the pediatrician, finished my conference call, slammed some string cheese for lunch and hit only a few small cars and animals. As we drove home, his eyes overflowing, I realized that I would be unable to take him to the doctor since I had Fun With Oral Surgery scheduled at exactly the same time and had to keep the appointment or wait until July and kiss a molar goodbye. This was all stacking up to be a day that sucked like no other.

I made my way on BART to the city, Shawn Joaquin headed to the doctor with his nanny, and I awaited a report on his condition. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and called Wafa's cell.

"What did the doctor say?"
"He say Shawn Joaquin has something wrong with his eyes."
"Well, we knew that..."
"And he say he has an ear infection in BOTH ears that he's had for a LOOOOOOOONG, LOOOOONG time."

I was stricken, mute and awash in guilt. Had he been in pain for days...weeks...while I was oblivious to it in my rush to get to Board meetings, gala meetings, advancement committee meetings, school, work, Trader Joe's, backyard poop scooping and dog walks? Was I so caught up in this glamorous lifestyle that I had neglected my own child's health? WAS I YET AGAIN A SLACKER MOM?

Wafa assured me the doctor had not told her how long it had been but had written everything down for me, and I could see it all when I got home. 120 minutes of worry and novocain and nitrous later, I was home and rushed in to find the paper on the fridge.

"Sean [sic] has conjunctivitis and an ear infection in both ears."

That was it. That was the entire note from a doctor who had been asked to write copious notes so I would know what to do and how long I had been neglected my child and his ears. There was no timeline, no reassurances, no prognosis, no warnings about not exposing other children to the mucus machine his eyes had become. Just my child's name misspelled and a lack of detail that would keep me up all night wondering if my child would lose his hearing now because I was too damn worried about getting the poop out of the backyard or raising funds for his school.

For the rest of the night, I suffered from something akin to non-custodial parent guilt: he was offered ice cream and grilled cheese for dinner, all the Backyardigans he could watch through his filmy eyes, and I even gave in when he croaked out in the most pitiful voice: I want Rachel Ray. We endured 30 minutes of her chatter and highly suspect cooking just to keep him happy and from focusing, somewhere in his tiny but brilliant brain, on the neglect that had led us all here.

Today, after multiple eye drop battles, he's fine. And his hearing is sharp enough to hear the clink of my spoon from two floors away, leading him to shout "WHAT YOU EATING? I WANT SOME. I NEEEEEED SOME." And as a slacker mom wracked with guilt, he will of course get it...and whatever else he desires until my guilt recedes and common sense is reintroduced. Until then, let him cake. And ice cream. And whatever else his little green-filmed eyes can see and thus desire.