Okay, yesterday pretty much sucked. It started out fine, but later in the afternoon it disintegrated in a matter of minutes.
Amy opened the front door and the dog got out. That's a typical occurrence that drives me crazy daily, so it isn't unprecedented. We caught her rather quickly this time, and I took Amy and Jingle back into the house. Matty went to go tell his brother of the capture. About 10 minutes later, I change a load of laundry, and notice that Amy isn't around. Then I notice that the boys are not back yet. So I tear through the house calling Amy's name, searching every room. Nothing. I run outside. I'm calling all of them and still nothing. I find the boys at the pond's edge and my heart sinks and my stomach lunges and still no Amy.
At this moment, Mrs. Kravitz, my neighbor that can make an intolerable moment even more insufferable, comes up and tries to "help." I send her and the boys back to the house to search there because I know Amy will never respond to her outside if she calls.
The seconds crawl by as I run down the street and through back yards calling her name. Other neighbors peer outside. Sweat is pouring down my back and I realize I am shaking.
Finally, Stevie comes from the house and announces he's found her, curled up under a blanket in the baby's crib.
And as I stood there holding on to her for dear life, a thousand fears pulsing through my body, Did she not hear me when I called her? Is her hearing not working right anymore? How will I know? What if she had made it outside?, Mrs. Kravitz said, "You've got so many kids now, you can't keep track of them all."
If I hadn't been holding my precious daughter, I would have punched her in the face.
As a mother, she should have just understood intuitively that that is the absolute lowest a mother can feel. If she was trying to be funny--which I have never known her to do--comic relief at that moment of sheer panic is just plain cruel.
And supplying the 1001st fear is even crueler.