It'll pass... (literally).

Why do my children always choose violence and chaos when they visit me at work?

I miss my sweetturds when I'm gone, I really do. But I swear my children wait until they are in front of my coworkers before they make decisions that cause said coworkers to question who allowed me to become a parent.

At home, my kids at least act as "normal" as children can be. Sure, there are mystery stains, suspicious silences, screeching that could wake the dead, and irrational sibling arguments. But generally speaking, nobody is witnessing the crazy except for my husband and me.

At work, however, PJ and T seem determined to destroy my professional reputation.

The first incident resulted in T's first and, thankfully, only head CT.

Before anyone starts imagining a neglected toddler wandering unsupervised through an active construction site, let me explain. My husband brought me lunch and was watching him while I finished working on a task. We were both doing exactly what responsible parents are supposed to do. Then T did what toddlers do best and somehow turned an ordinary moment into a medical event. In the span of a millisecond, he managed to pull a magazine shelf down on top of himself. It was terrifying.

Everything slows down when your child gets hurt. Your stomach drops, your heart races, and your brain starts running through worst-case scenarios while you're simultaneously trying to stay calm enough to figure out what's actually happening. Thankfully, he was okay. The scan was okay. Everything turned out fine.

But my coworkers got to witness the entire ordeal. Nothing builds confidence in your parenting quite like having your child arrive for a head CT because he somehow lost a fight with a shelf at our place of work. I assumed that would be the end of the shenanigans...

I underestimated T and he clearly knows this.

6 months later, my kids and my husband were brave enough to bring me lunch again on a quiet weekend day. Everything seemed perfectly normal. We were sitting together, having a nice meal, enjoying a pleasant family moment.

Then T decided it was too calm. He held up a plastic spoon with an angry look on his face, "Mama, look!"

At first, I didn't think much of it.

Then I noticed a chunk of the spoon was missing.

Not bent. Not cracked. MISSING.

My husband and I stared at each other. Then at the spoon. Then back at each other.

We searched everywhere. The table. The floor. His clothes. His plate. His mouth. The surrounding zip code. Nothing.

Finally, we asked the obvious question. "T, where did the rest of the spoon go?"

Without hesitation, he informed us that he ate it.

There are moments in parenting where your brain simply refuses to process the information it has received. This was one of those moments.

A spoon is not food. It is not even food-adjacent. There is no reasonable explanation for why a child would consume part of a spoon. Yet here we were.

So naturally I did what any reasonable mother would do. I grabbed the spoon and sprinted to the emergency department.

I burst into the lobby holding the evidence like I was presenting Exhibit A in a trial.

"I THINK MY SON JUST ATE THIS!" My coworker looked at me. Looked at the spoon. Looked back at me.

She apparently saw that I was approximately three seconds away from hyperventilating.

Then she delivered one of the most reassuring and insulting responses I have ever received.

"He'll poop it out."

What... That's it? No dramatic rushing him upstairs? No emergency intervention? No frantic calls? She then proceeded to keep typing.

Friends, there are few moments more humbling than learning that your child's digestive tract is apparently stronger than your emotional stability.

Sure enough, she was right. He ended up being fine. The spoon piece eventually completed its journey through his gastrointestinal system.

Meanwhile, I aged seven years.

The thing about parenting is that everyone eventually collects stories like these. Stories that sound completely made up until you have children of your own and realize that kids are constantly conducting dangerous experiments with absolutely no concern for the outcome. The real problem is not that these things happen, because kids do get hurt and eat things. Kids do routinely make decisions that would have adults removed from civilized society.

No. The problem is that MY children insist on doing these things specifically when my coworkers are present. These are people who trust me to care for other human beings, and who have seen me function as a competent professional. Then my children arrive, and immediately provide evidence that I spend my evenings chasing tiny chaos goblins who think safety is overrated and silverware is edible.

At this point, I'm convinced they show up with a conspiracy and a mission -

"Mom seems too competent here... Let's fix that."

xoxo

Madi