It’s only 11AM, and I already get a big fat “F” for the day.
It starts off with dragging poor Rya to mommy bootcamp, when all she really wanted to do was nap.
She was a sport though, and humoured me by watching me jump around like a mad woman from her car seat.
She got a bit fussy 15 minutes in – which is when I realized she really needed a diaper change. Oh. Understatement.
She needed a diaper change AND a new outfit.
Blowout.
Second “F” for mommy – I forgot to pack her another outfit. 
Well…the jumper was multi-coloured, and I figured no one would notice the yellow stain on the side, so we stayed….just 45 more minutes to go baby – hang in there.
I resume the circuit, placing her back in the car seat on top of the buckles.
Next thing I know, I see my baby launching towards me ‘a la superman…’
Miraculously, she managed to keep her body in perfect flying form, holding her head up looking at me with an expression of, “You are SO getting bad-mommy-of-the-year-award for this!”
SPLAT
Her little belly and chunky monkey legs take the impact – her hands slap down in front of her….her eyes are still fixed on me, “BAD, BAD Mommy”
She let me have it. And rightly so.
She’s fine. I’m not. I keep thinking how bad it could have been if she didn’t have her hands out, and smashed her face into the hard gym floor.
F…F….F
(um…now this is the part where you reply with a story how you did something bad once too (or know someone who has)…and I’m not the most rotten mommy in the world).
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