Ouch

Perhaps I am a glutton for punishment. Perhaps I just want to please people. Perhaps my two-year-old gets so bored in stagnant surroundings that I will try anything once if it gets us out of the house. Whatever the reason, I decided to take my son and my 3 month old daughter to an amusement park for the day, with much help from my father, stepmom and sister. (I may be a glutton, but I am not suicidal.)

I couldn’t help but hum random bits of Beach Boy songs as we entered the water park and situated ourselves in front of the toddler wading pool. I immediately sent out a huge hallelujah as we found vacant chairs in the shade. Still, slathering sunscreen on all visible parts and a few hidden parts of my two-year-old seemed like the best course of action. Nothing screams “Horrible Momma” like a crispy fried toddler on the day after. Finally, after many protests and odd squirming he slipped from my greasy clutches to go swim with grandpa. My daughter was next, and even though she wasn’t even going to sniff the sun if I had my way, she too got a super-sonic coating of SPF.

For the next 3 hours I alternated between happy go lucky water frolicker and anal retentive sunscreen applier. My efforts appeared to pay off as my babies had fun without any visible evidence that their skin had seen the light. This thrilled me as I am bound and determined that they keep that baby soft, unblemished deliciousness until they graduate high school and make their own choices. I am nothing if not delusional.

After a much too expensive lunch from a much too long line of starving slightly sun burnt people, we ventured over to the amusement part of the amusement park and began to ride rides. Armed with hats and more applications of sunscreen, my son and daughter squealed with delight on the merry-go-round, trucks, planes, helicopters and something called ‘Sally’s seaplane,’ which my son refused to ride with anyone but grandpa (who incidentally gets a little seasick on anything that goes in circles).

Another three hours of delight and it was time to call it a day. Momma was exhausted. The B Man was getting ornery (a sure sign of fatigue), and my sunscreen bottle was dangerously low on fuel. I trekked out to the car, loaded the kids and all their crap, said goodbye to the rest of my family and slid into the driver’s seat. An odd and unpleasant feeling struck both my back and my brain. . .

Surely during all the sunscreen applications to my children I had remembered to apply some to myself, right? Apparently not. Three days later and I still can’t carry my diaper bag, or lay on my back or comfortably wear a bra (much to the chagrin of my mother and step-father who we are temporarily living with). My back is a fire engine tomato red that only 6 hours in the sun can create. A firm believer in sun protection receives a terrible burn. Who does that? Me. I do that.