I want my merit badge.

When I joined a sorority, we had initiation week. It wasn't hell week--if it had been, I wouldn't have joined. But, there was a fair share of humiliation: dancing, skits, "eat dirt! eat dirt!" (it was chocolate cake with gummi worms).
When I was in Campfire Girls, we had rituals. We sat at the Grand Council Fire--burning brightly out of fluttering tissue paper blown by a fan inside Hutchins Memorial Auditorium.  We earned patches for sewing and nature walks. We earned beads for swimming and track.  And we hung them proudly on our sashes, and later, on our vests. We all hoped to make to the ultimate camp fire reward: the Wo-He-Lo.

I quit Campfire Girls. I tolerated the Sorority. I can't quit being a mommy (nor would I want to). But, I want my mommy merit badges. 

We should get patches for each month we nurse a child. Beads for every diaper that runneth over. I want to sew my patches on my briefcase and wear my beads to work. I want everyone to know that this weekend, I earned my Whoa! He Blows! award.

R.J. had a touch of the stomach flu on Thursday, a bit of fever on Friday. By Saturday, he felt better. We went to JC Penney for a baby gift. "Mommy," he said standing in line, "my tummy hurt." I should  have known better. I've been at this for two and a half years.

But, I put him in the car, and we forged ahead. Twenty minutes later, I look in the rearview mirror to see that my precious boy has, in fact, blown a gasket. He barfed on his sweatsuit, my coat, his seat, the floor. And it just kept coming. I pulled into a newly constructed housing addition. Ignoring stares from the Saturday morning crew, I climbed in the backseat (it's on my pants!) and cuddled my stinky baby.

I took off his wet clothes. I wiped his face and dried his tears. I gave him juice. I found his Halloween Elmo jacket and put it on him with a diaper. I gave him a quilt. I cried when he asked for blankie, and I realized we'd left blankie at home.

Once home, I got my baby warm and clean and snuggled into bed. "I feel better," he said, reading Dr. Seuss.

I scrubbed. I freshened. I Febreezed. My car will never be the same again. It has been initiated. I have earned my patch...and I think a few beads. And I'm ever so close to the "Whoa! He blows!"