Today I got stung in the ass by a wasp at a two-year-old birthday party.
I tried to think of a clever intro to work my way up to that statement, but sometimes, you just gotta start with the punchline.
The day started out pretty well-I woke up and read to the kids, we went to church, had lunch with friends. I wore what I thought was a pretty romantic maxi-skirt I bought yesterday at Old Navy and a maternity tank top and thought that I was hitting just the right note of boho-70s-earth mama. I’m in the mostly fun phase of dressing while pregnant when you’re obviously showing, but nothing has started spreading out the sides yet as though your frame couldn’t possibly hold all the baby plus ice cream you have going on in there.
Turns out that my white tank top really highlighted the hollow of my belly button in the sunlight and that the skirt just made a great trap for a really pissed off stinging insect.
The moment I got stung I was with Jay watching our three kids and my sweet niece (the birthday girl) play on the playground at the park where the party was held. They were all cute and laughing and playing so happily, but this random kid I’ve never met before and who wasn’t at our party kept telling me I needed to watch what he was doing. He was yelling, “hey! watch me jump off of this” and I was explaining that I was watching three other kids right that moment when I felt this really awful pain in my left cheek.
I tried to just let it go and keep watching the kids, but the pain kept coming in waves and I started to get the chills and I thought, “I’ve never had an allergic reaction to a bee sting before, but it has been 30 years or so since the last one.” I told Jay I needed a minute and I went and got my mom to come help him watch the kids on the playground.
I tried to go into the bathroom, but it was locked, and this is why I wound up bottomless in my minivan trying to get a good look at my butt in the review mirror. I didn’t realize that I could feel worse about my behind than I usually do, but inspecting a swelling bull’s-eye in a mirror made to give you the best possible view of traffic 30 yards behind you accomplished that goal quite nicely.
I returned to the playground and Mom asked if I was o.k. I told her I got stung in the butt and she suggested (while laughing) that I ice it. Jay made the same suggestion, but I pointed out that it might really change the mood of the party were I to go sit down in the cooler full of drinks–although I bet I could’ve laid claim to all the diet cokes I wanted to at that point.
My smart-ass mom and my smart-ass husband then made helpful comments like “doesn’t matter where we are, it all comes back to her in the end” and “yep, she really has to be at the bottom of things.” On the way home, I had to sit awkwardly on my right side and I got “you’re going to talk about this all night, aren’t you?” and “you’re really running out of ways to sleep, huh?” from my loving husband.
So now I’m blogging my pain with a baggy of ice on my rear end wondering why in the world I’m the funny sidekick in my own life story. Shouldn’t I at least get to be the beautiful and graceful lead from my own point of view? But even I recognize that bee sting to the butt at a birthday party is pretty darn funny.
I have to go now–my ass is getting numb.