Today is Bono‘s birthday.
Normally, that would make me happy, but there must be something going on that’s making the 47th birthday of U2’s frontman a most inauspicious date.
It began at midnight, sharp, when the alarm clock on the CD player in the Magpie’s room went off with that horrible default beeping of alarm clocks. The alarm had not been set to go off, no one had been messing with it during the previous day and there is no way the cat could have accidentally done anything, yet here was this possessed piece of equipment, waking up the entire house. I managed to stumble in and somehow shut it up and unplug it from the wall.
Apparently, I only hit snooze. And forgot about the backup batteries.
It went off again, 10 minutes later, with a completely different buzzer and once again woke everyone up. Mr.Q also got up this time, upended stuffed animals and he carted it downstairs to remove the batteries and quell the beast that had taken hold of the incredibly cheap and well past warranty piece of CD player crap that we had been using to help keep the Magpie entertained.
That saga well and over, we were not too surprised that we got to sleep in a little this morning. Not a bad way to make up for the events of the night. But I got complacent. Upon heading outside to water the plants, I cracked my head on the balcony railing. Now granted, it was on my near blind side and this is not an unusual occurrence, but it still stung. Barely two hours later, I smacked my kneecap with a crack that reverberated throughout the underground parking. As did my teary eyed follow up sonofamotherfuckingbitchwhatthehellgoddamnit. Not even one hour after that, I had placed the Magpie in her stroller and was reaching back into the car to get the diaper bag when I impaled my forehead on the car door.
That one actually left me a little stunned. And with a lovely welt. A lovely noticeable welt for others to comment on. The two previous incidents had left me unscathed, but this last one – in public, of course – marked me like a lightening bolt. But without the magical powers that can be claimed by others so afflicted.
So, what’s left? The day is barely more than half over and I’m now rather scared to move – let alone leave the house. Bono, if you’re reading, I offer up a plea for your benevolence. There’s nothing to be mad about – 47 isn’t old, truly! Let us be able to honestly say happy birthday without the fear that inadequate wishes will lead us to further physical injury and cursed electronics.
Or, at least, let the evidence of our clumsiness be hidden by regular clothing.
Be sure to read tomorrow’s Blog Blast post on What Makes You a Mother – and join in yourself with your own What Makes You a Mother post on May 11. Check out the Parent Bloggers Network for all the important rules and regs and, best off, prizes!