…as they were

Once upon a time, early in this grim tale, there were days that were all one repetitious round of sameness. Had I know that giving up the world of business to stay at home meant regaling myself to a year-long cycle of bottle, diaper, nap, bottle, diaper, nap, I may have entertained second thoughts and let sleeping babies lie.

Dear journal, whee, wipe out
Life is dull enough that I’ve decided to liven it up with a second child—no, not with another of my own yet! I’ll match my two month old with another two-month-old by becoming a day-care-mother. It’s a service to the community and I can certainly do bottle, diaper, nap, times two. Wish me well, Terina

What I discovered is that adding the second child compounds the excitement exponentially,[1] which makes things considerably more interesting and the excitement of life’s ride ratchets up.
The next season of motherhood changes by only one variable. Bottle, diaper, nap is joined by crawl, which mutates to walk, and as any mom will tell you, mobilization begins the independent surge toward the parent’s roller coaster existence.

Dear Journal
I promise you that I have everything in common with the persons in the handicapped parking place. I park in the open stall next to the shopping cart that some thoughtful stranger has neglected to push to the cart return, then I proceed to disconnect and transfer the children and their bags of life support to the transport that will deliver us to shopping safety.
As I inch past the handicapped zone, I’m reminded that this process is preparation for the onset of oxygen tanks, arthritis and wheelchairs, because no matter how fast I move, the little old lady in the front stall still beats me in the front door dash.
Shuffling along, Terina

Reality Bite: But, next time … next time, watch out!


[1] For those who have not yet suffered through sixth grade math homework, it means the little number situated at the top, right of the big number, and trust me, it never adds up to anything good.