Make no mistake...I'm the mom.

When I picked up Sullivan yesterday, Lacey said to me, "You know Blair, Sully has really been favoring that right ear today."  I laughed and said, "That is the most 'Sullivan' way of explaining an ear infection...had it been any other kid, you would have said all day he has been yelling and fussy and crying while he pulls at his right ear but instead, Sully loves his right ear."  I looked down at Sullivan who looked up at me with a goofy grin. "Alright buddy, we will go straight to the doctor," I said, trying to think if I had prepared at all for a detour during the precarious pre-dinner zone.  I had my wallet, Sullivan's epi pen, and a bottle of motrin in the car.  No diapers.  No snacks.  Asking for trouble, but so was taking a kid home who was, in fact, continuing to strongly favor the right side of his head.  Sullivan sat on my hip, jamming his tiny little sausage fingers into his ear while I collected his things.  Lacey was telling one of the other teachers about a woman she'd seen the other day at Lake Harriet.

"We were walking," Lacey said, "and this woman comes zipping by us, running, pushing a tiny baby in a stroller.  My husband looked at me and said 'would you ever have gone jogging with a baby?' and I said NO!"  They laughed, and Lacey went on, "I mean, this woman was tan, and happy to be running, and had this beautiful hair in this perfect braid..." 

I jumped in, now crouched at a cubby, Sully still on my hip, super ungracefully trying to keep my balance while I jammed used bottles, dirty clothes, and empty food containers into a grocery bag, "Lacey, if she looked that good, maybe she was the nanny."  Lacey nodded appreciatively, "I bet you're right."

We left the infant room and grabbed Asher from the preschool room, who yelled, "gooooodbyyyeee poopy butts!" to his friends as we left.  His teacher smiled at me and I shook my head, yelling over my shoulder, "Ash will see you tomorrow,  Sully might have an ear infection, heading to the doctor now, he may be a no-show tomorrow."  

As I strapped the kids into their car seats I thought, "I wonder if I ever look young and well-rested enough that people think I'm the nanny and not the mom," but I didn't get to finish the thought because Asher started yelling at me that he was going to poop (before I even started the car, but after he was buckled in) and we spent the next ten minutes singing Jingle Bells so he would be too distracted to poop until we were safely at the pediatrician's office.

Of course, sweet Sullivan had (has) a double ear infection.  We got our script for antibiotics, the green light to call the ENT about scheduling tube surgery, and off we went.  

Fast forward 18 hours and I'm walking Harlan, pushing the stroller, trying to lull Sully towards his second nap.  He is home with me today after a night of very little sleep (a double ear infection will do that to the best of us).  We are on the sidewalk of a busy road, and suddenly I snap "into" it.  I have no idea how long I'd been walking in a daze, half asleep, eyes unblinking and unfocused, just walking forward.  Like in a deep, deep meditative place.  Only not as intentional.  Or as zen.  Just sleepy and worn out.  I'm wearing jeans that have a hole in one knee.  Not a store bought hole, an "I spend most of my time on the ground digging pacifiers out from under bookshelves and chasing tiny children" hole.  My red flannel is as old as Asher, tattered and, as luck would have it, buttoned one button off so the bottoms aren't even.  I don't remember the last day I washed my hair, and it is in what I hope comes off as a "messy bun" but what I'm sure looks like a sad, haphazard pile on top of my head.  I'm wearing tennis shoes with no socks.  No make up.  No jewelry.  And apparently I'm sleep walking.  And then the thought, "there is no way in hell anyone driving by thinks you're the nanny, you are absolutely, completely 100% the mom.  The tired, defeated mom.  The 'my kid has his 6th ear infection in as many months' mom.  The 'I currently spend 90% of my waking hours and energy trying to figure out if my kid is safe at daycare with a life-threatening allergy' mom.  Out loud I made a "hrmph" noise, which led to a phlegmy coughing fit, because of course, as the mom, I have come down with Sullivan's cold that has grown into a double ear infection for him and a chest rattling smokers cough for me.  "What about on a good day?  On a good day could I be the nanny?"  On a good day I've got my hair washed and in a slightly less frantic bun, I'm wearing earrings, and I am maybe more awake.  But no, I realize, my days of passing for a nanny have come and gone.

This realization settled in, but wasn't met with as much panic as it could have been.  After the walk, I wrapped Sullivan up in blankies and walked around the house with him snuggled into my arm pit, and it just felt so good to be the mom.  To have my world in a blanket bundle on my hip.  Softly breathing, an occasional murmur escaping the muslin mound in my arms.  It's okay to grow up and grow old.  It's good to be the mom.