The house was messier than usual.
Toys were scattered across the floor. Cheerios hid in every crevice. The wood floor was coated with some unknown sticky substance. The Dining Room table was stacked with papers, obviously a work in progress.
Addison was in the back of the kitchen doing who knows what. Carter was crawling to freedom the opposite way clutching whatever toy he had stolen from Addison.
I was scooping up a wiggling Carter and attempting to locate a giggling Addison when I heard it.
A knock at the door.
I went to the door, sheepish about the fact that Carter was still in a questionable smelling sleeper and the only clothes I could find to wear had liberal yogurt splotches decorating the simple tshirt and jean capris.
Who was at the door? Not only the nutritionalist, but she brought a student who was following her around, hoping to learn how it was done. I love how extra people show up for these appointments right when I'm the least prepared for them. *sarcasm alert*
Both of these women had carefully straightened hair; flawlessly done makeup; beautifully put together outfits.
They were holding clipboards and staring at me warily.
I tried to remember if I brushed my hair.
Pretending to not feel self conscious at my lack of having the appearance of "being together" for this early morning visit, I launched right into my brilliant idea for Addison's nutrition.
Because it's always a good idea when you are uncomfortable to immediately jump your word count per minute by a couple hundred. Just turn the facet on high and let whatever words are the freest just pour our and fill the silence. *more of that sarcasm thing*
"It might be crazy." I was saying. "I wanted to run it by you to make sure I wasn't poisoning her by giving her too much of a good thing"
Luna Bars (they are dipped in chocolate)
I went on to outline Addison's entire diet and stress how much she continues to want so much chocolate, so I was trying to substitute the m&m consumption with something more profitable.
The nutritionalist and friend just stared at me, each with one finely shaped eyebrow arched toward the sky while sitting on the white couch patterned in tiny peanut butter handprints. (When did that happen???)
Seriously we talked for a long while (mostly me catching the nutritionalist up on Addison's latest diet changes). Finally we returned to my chocolate question when she looked through her notes and said with inspiration
"The mom says that Addison took her first steps for chocolate?"
Why was she referring to me in third person?
"What?" I asked.
"She told me in our last visit that she used chocolate to get Addison to take her first steps. The mom did."
"Um, I'm the mom." I said.
She flushed and said, "Oh wow I thought you were way to young looking to be the mom. You looked more like the PCA."
-Note: we have met before-
She continued, "I was so confused how a caregiver knew so much about Addison's diet. I guess that makes more sense now."
I figured either:
1. I had lost so much weight since the last time she saw me, she couldn't believe it was the same person (this one isn't likely, but I like to dream)
2. I look like a 12 year old when I don't wear makeup and brush my hair (and sometimes even when I do)
3. The nutritionalist hated me because I came up with such a genius chocolate substitution solution for Addison that she didn't think of.
4. I have a very forgettable face. (if only I could lead with wit instead of this button nose and innocent looking eyes)
5. She thought only an inexperienced babysitter could let the house look that bad by 9:00am.
6. I'm completely out of reasons, but it was nice how much she flushed when she realized that she immediate judged me to be the "teenage" sitter (in front of her protégée)
Sigh. Perhaps if I HAD been the sitter, I would have at least had time to eat breakfast before having to endure that appointment.
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