Today the world conspired against me. For 25 minutes, the world stacked a series of obstacles in my path causing a major embarrassment. When it was over, I could have shouted and snarled, but in the end, all I could do was laugh.

In life, sometimes you’re the mom who has her shit together. Other times, you’re the mom who finds it running down her leg on her own front porch.

A few weeks ago, I was diagnosed with cellulitis of the abdominal wall, which is a fancy term for, “infection of the innards.” It was painful and annoying, but the hydrocodone was delicious. If you can get your hands on some, I highly recommend it. I’m kidding. Don’t do that. You can’t share. It’s illegal. But if you have some left over from a toothache and it’s just laying around in the bathroom cabinet , you should really treat yourself.

AnyWHO, the first round of antibiotics looked at my infection, yawned, turned three tight circles on the rug, and went to sleep. Worthless. When my doctor gave me the second round, he warned they were very strong and I might experience diarrhea. “Great,” I remember thinking. “I’m already walking around with a painful gut goiter. Why not add a runny backside to the mix. Splendid times.”

After a few days, my pain diminished and the redness subsided. I was ecstatic. AND lucky me, I even avoided the not-so-sexy side effects of the stronger medication. I found myself smiling, laughing, cleaning house, and even running on the beach wearing white linen like I was the star in my very own Summer’s Eve commercial. Okay, so the beach was actually the grocery store and the white linen was black stretchy yoga pants, but the point is, I was feeling on top of the world. Then, Monday came along and said, “YOU. HAVE. HAD. ENOUGH. JOY.”

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