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So I have a cold, and haven't been sleeping that well, and last night while I was not sleeping, for some reason I started a tally in my head of the Worst Moments of My Life, which I will share with you now, not including the precise moment in time at which I was composing this list, which was one of the Worst because I absolutely could not breathe and my throat was sore and my lips were cracked and my face felt like it was about to explode from the sinus pressure. So here you go:

1. Seventh Grade. One day, whilst wearing my pink corduroy pants, the unexpected happened and I was totally unprepared. This has probably happened to every seventh grade girl since the beginning of time, and soon after they realize why every purse ever sold has that hidden zipper pocket. Luckily, I was also wearing a long sweater-tunic thing, so I don't think anyone realized my distress, but man was that ever a long, long day.

2. Spring, 1991. Breaking up with my high school sweetheart. I knew it was the right thing to do for me, but I had a really hard time coming up with a good explanation for him, so it was a horribly awkward and painful conversation on top of the fact that I felt so, so bad for breaking his heart. The nadir was when he asked, "But don't you even care about me anymore?" and I realized that even he knew, by then, not to ask if I still loved him.

3. December 2001. Mallory was a few days old; my parents were there to meet her and to help us out. We were living in our first house, a charming two-bedroom bungalow in Durham; or, in other words, me, Chris, a newborn baby, Mom and Dad, and two huge dogs in 1200 square feet. Mallory was nursing 23 hours out of every day and would not consent to be put down in her bassinet at night; our stupid dog Zack barked every time my dad or mom moved, much less tried to sneak quietly down the hall to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and I was at the end of my rope. One night, after hours of trying to get the child back to sleep, my back killing me from being unable to put her down or lay down myself, I left the nest of pillows on my bed and went to the living room, where my parents were sleeping on the sofa bed. I picked up the pair of jeans my dad had left on the rocking chair -- and about a million dollars worth of loose change spilled out of his pocket and onto the hardwood floors. Pennies rattled and bounced, the dogs started barking, the baby was screaming -- and I stood there in absolute despair, thinking, I just don't want to be a mommy anymore.

4. Sometime in 2004. Mallory was three; I was watching her cavort on the playground of our local mall while Chris was off shopping. Suddenly, Mallory jumped off one of the play structures and ran straight for the playground exit. I leaped up to follow her, but by the time I reached the exit and looked around, she had disappeared completely. The mall was packed, and I stood there in absolute panic; I didn't even know where to start looking, or who to alert, or how I was going to explain to Chris that I had lost our child. I thought -- What if I never find her? Then I heard Chris's voice call, "Mallory!" I looked around, but I was unable to see him, either, which only added to my confusion. Then I heard his voice again -- "Krista, she went that way." I looked, and saw Chris coming down the escalator. He had gotten on at the precise moment she ran away, and thus had a bird's eye view of her progress down the mall corridor. We retrieved her in a matter of seconds and I think Chris yelled at her for running away. I don't think I was able to speak for about five minutes. Later I tried to explain to her that she must never, ever do that again, but I kept tearing up and couldn't get the words out.

5. Summer 2005. Phoebe was a newborn, sleeping in her crib. We were downstairs with Mallory, who launched into a mighty tantrum about I-don't-remember-what. After a few minutes of dealing with her carrying on, I realized that Phoebe was also crying upstairs. I went up, glanced into her crib, and my heart stopped, because she had gotten entangled in her blanket -- it was wrapped around her face and she was struggling, ineffectually, to get free. I immediately scooped her up and pulled off the blanket and needless to say, she was fine, but for the next few minutes, while whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" into her soft fuzzy head, I kept imagining what would've happened if I hadn't heard her, if she hadn't cried, if I'd shown up thirty seconds later.

Reading over these, it strikes me that I'm a very lucky person. It almost feels like tempting fate to post these. Here goes anyway.


J&H Noble said…
Wow. I agree that those should be on the 'worst' list. And your seventh grade story happened to me in freshman Spanish. And no, Mrs. Speak-no-Spanish Buske would not let me go to the restroom.
God looks out for our kids always, especially when we aren't or can't. We should count our blessings every single day.
aimee said…
I am sorry you have a cold. I hope you sleep better tonight. :)

And I wonder why the moment when you were almost struck by lightening wasn't on your list.

(Hee Hee. I know, I am the only one who remembers this!)

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