The Reason My Son Won't Eat Mac & Cheese Anymore (A "Messy Mishap")
The Scene: It was a Tuesday. I was feeling like a champion. I had cooked. Specifically, I had cooked pasta, the universal love language of children.
We were sitting at the dining room table. The mood was good. I stood up to get napkins, feeling tall, feeling capable...
SCREECH.
My hair. My bun. It was caught.
Not just "a little snagged." I was fully, intricately woven into the dining room chandelier.
Inner Dialogue: Okay, Andrea. Stay calm. You are the Calm Anchor. Just untangle it.
I tried to move down. The chandelier moved with me. I tried to move up. Pain. I was a fish on a hook. A very embarrassed fish.
My son looked up from his pasta. "Mom?"
"I'm stuck," I said, trying to maintain dignity while being suspended by my scalp. "Can you help me?"
He stood up on his chair. He looked at the knot. He looked at me. And then... the absurdity hit us both.
I started to laugh. Not a cute giggle. A full-body, shaking, silent, hysterical laugh.
Inner Dialogue: Don't laugh. You need to focus. You need to—oh no.
You know that feeling? The one where your joy is bigger than your pelvic floor?
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
I couldn't stop the laugh. Which meant I couldn't stop the other thing.
Right there. In the dining room. While attached to a light fixture. In front of my child and a bowl of penne.
The Aftermath:
Eventually, we got me down. (I had to cut a piece of hair. RIP, hair). Eventually, we cleaned the floor. (RIP, dignity).
But the trauma lingers.
Today, I offered to make pasta for dinner. My son looked me dead in the eye. "No thanks." "Why? You love pasta." "I don't eat that anymore." "Why?" "Because of the pee, Mom. It's the Pee Mac & Cheese."
The Takeaway:
If you think you are the only one who has literally peed themselves laughing (or sneezing, or jumping) since giving birth... you are not.
I was told I was "healthy." I was told to just "do kegels." But the truth is, a "normal" birth can leave us with a body that reacts to stress (even happy stress!) in messy ways.
I’m sharing this humiliation for two reasons:
So you know you aren't alone.
So you know that if I can heal my pelvic floor and nervous system after that incident... you can too. (Though I can't promise my son will ever eat pasta again).
