I was reminded this morning of my worst parenting experience. Four years ago, I was 7 months pregnant, and having just entered the last trimester, I was exhausted. It was a Friday afternoon and my husband had just come home from work early. He had been to the doctors earlier in the day and needed a prescription. I was lying in bed reading a book when he got home. He told me that he was going to run out to the pharmacy and get the prescription filled. My oldest who was three started crying, as his dad got ready to go. He really wanted to go with him, but he was still wearing his PJ’s.
Even though it was close to five o’clock, I had failed to get him dressed because on this particular day we didn’t leave the house. I was barely dressed myself with yoga pants and a t-shirt. At this point in my pregnancy, bras were strictly for public appearances, and I had no plans to venture into public. Continue reading