Audrey's First Encounter with Contact Lenses

I was super tired last night.  My contacts were super dry and all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed, but I could not find my contact lens case.  There was a tower of small candles on the back of the toilet, so I had the presence of mind to realize there was a strong probability that a little girl had found my pretty little lime green contact case and hidden it somewhere that makes sense to her.  I wasn't about to wake her up by looking in the play blender in her play kitchen, so I fumbled around in the bunch of contact cases stacked in our medicine cabinet.

We have a bunch of contact cases stacked in our medicine cabinet because: 

1. They're sold that way because, according to the contact lens case company, you're supposedly supposed to change out your case every month to keep the contact lens case company in business for optimal contact lens care, and 

2. When I bought the six-pack of cases, Aaron and I both wore contacts so it seemed economical.  Then of course within a few months, Aaron was approved for corrective vision surgery and within a few weeks that was done so I have cases to last at least a few more years.  This is much more dumb than economical: I don't need as many contact cases as I have shoes so I bet I'll get careless with them and then find myself needing one and having to buy another six.  

My hand closed in on a familiar shape and emerged victorious with a light blue option.  It's prettier than the lime green, so it will probably be in the play blender soon, but I was exhausted and thankful that I didn't have to go searching for another one.  I took out my contacts and went to bed.

This morning, I opened the Right side and discovered two contacts floating in an excess of contact solution.  I was so tired last night, I put both in one side!  I put the thicker of the two in my right eye, blinked a few times and looked in the mirror.

The me in the mirror blurred and the room spun a little bit.  I blinked to try and de-blurify everything but it didn't work.  The contact felt really thick and uncomfortable which meant that it was not my contact at all.  I had unearthed a time capsule from April that contained only my husband's contacts. HOLY CRAP, this man definitely needed eye surgery.  I threw the contacts in the trash, re-cleaned my contacts, put them in, and got in the shower.  

I set a Saturday morning shower record: I was already rinsing off when the curtain flew out and I heard Audrey's slow "Mommmmmmy?  You in da showwwwooo?"

Audrey loves when I take a shower because she gets to stack the candles and do her make-up and make bouquets of q-tips and identify little treasures that I will have to live without until they reappear in her "titchen" and various purses.  The longer it takes for Audrey to realize I'm in the shower, the less likely it is that I'll have to clean up broken glass or a lotion-covered toilet (she likes to paint).  The shower is a race against time.

I turned off the water, grabbed the towel and smiled down at the little girl who was wearing nothing but a Little Mermaid Pull-up.  "Yep!  I'm ALLLL done my shower!"

"Oh otay, Mommy.  You all done da showoo."  Audrey crashed into disappointment.  With me out, she couldn't claim her forbidden perch on the toilet.  Her eyes searched for something to make the trip worthwhile.  She bent down and stood up, suddenly fixated with something small in her fingers.  "Mom, what's dis?"

"That's Daddy's contact lens.  It's trash."

"It's twaaaaash?"

"Yeah, it's yuck."

She was fascinated with the gooey little disk, still moist with cleaning solution.  Audrey sized it on each of her fingers.  It was sticky, like a sticker, so it went on her chest.  It flipped inside-out, and she caught it by her belly button, noting that it was almost the same size.  Wait!  I could see the wheels turning as she discovered the use for these two little circles that could almost stick to her chest.  She wandered out of my bathroom, holding the contacts close as she tried to place them both where they obviously went.

And that is how my daughter discovered that contact lenses are the perfect size and shape... to cover her nipples.