Terrible Twos
Can I start a blog entry with WTF? Just did.
I think we are at risk of take-over. Enemy forces have infiltrated our home and have enslaved my husband and I. We are cleaning up human excrement, subjected to hours of torture with their shrieks and fits of rage. We’ve been manipulated, kicked, bitten and woken up every couple of hours to service a whim of our captor. Oh wait, sorry…when I typed “enemy forces” what I meant to say was, a two year old.
I thought I knew what a temper tantrum was when I wrote this post. HA! A temper tantrum is trying to shop at the mall when your two year old decides she wants to get all pissed off because you won’t let her “hold it.” When ‘it’ is a $3000 necklace at a posh little jewellery store. But it’s shiny and sparkly and she wants to “hold it.” So she sits down on the floor and starts screaming and kicking her legs. I try and pick her up and she of course flexes her torso into noodle like fashion trying to slip between my arms and plan her escape – all the while maintaining a steady stream of blood boiling shrieking. Awesome. Note to self: No more playdates at the mall. Seriously…that sort of thing should be reserved for mom’s who have babies who are still restricted to their bucket car seats (Gabby – who by the way you probably don’t even know exists because I’ve been blogging about as often as Britney Spears wears a bra – remained completely content and silent in her bucket the entire outing).
Eating is an entirely new ball game. Most of the food ends up on the floor, the milk ends up in the food, which then ends up on the floor and we find ourselves morphing into “tea pots” and dancing and singing to just side track the kid long enough to shove a few bites of dinner in her mouth. Which half off the time are chewed only momentarily, while we secretly do another dance in our heads (a happy dance) and then she spits it out as if to show disdain for the lack of exoticism in our cooking. If that doesn’t say “marionette” I don’t know what does.
Sleeping is harder than ever. I was getting more sleep when I had a newborn. We had a few great weeks with the big girl bed. The odd time we would wake up to hear her playing with the ball popper in the living room or she’d be standing beside me BUCK naked asking to crawl into bed with us. But after spending two hours trying to get her to go to sleep only to have her wake up an hour later screaming she has to go poop – to put her on the potty for 20 minutes (with not a poop in sight, she does this only because she knows we get excited over the idea of pooping on the potty and will let her out of bed) – well, I’m ready to scratch out my eyeballs.
She’s obsessed with her blankies and suckie and I don’t know how on earth I am ever going to wean her off of that damn pacifier. I may have screwed up on this child. Good thing I’ve got another one. It’s like building a house, you really have to build a test house first because there are inevitably things you’ll forget and wish you had done or things you did and wish you had done differently.
Here’s a compilation of stories from my girlfriend that I just had to share (really to validate my WTF intro for this blog post and to make myself feel better) – In order to protect the identities I have changed her name to Angelina and her husband’s to Brad. Angelina is talking about their dear sweet daughter we shall call “Shiloh.”
Exhibit A Child has figured out that if she wants to REALLY get back at her parents for giving her a time out, all she has to do is make an accusation that will surely alert child services and voila – mommy and daddy know who is boss:
“Today she was helping Brad make rice and she was fishing her hands around in it and making a HUGE mess…so we asked her to stop or we would take it away (last week she would have stopped). This week, she tested us to see if it would go away. So Brad got mad at her and gave her a time out. When she was done, she was bawling because she hates being in trouble and I said to her “what makes you upset?” She replied “I upset because dad hit me in the face.” I should conclude this story with some pertinent details. No, Brad and Angelina do not beat their child. But said child was hit in the face by another playmate that week and heard him being scolded for his inappropriate behaviour – clearly this kid is smart!
Shiloh also unfortunately suffered a pretty bad burn on her poor little hand. She touched the lawn mower (shortly after it had been run) and apparently those things get super hot…When the nurse at the hospital asked little Shiloh what had happened, she said “I burnt it on the iron.” – Angelina had to reassure the nurse that no she did not in fact leave hot irons plugged in for her child to play with!
Exhibit B Child knows how to embarrass mother in public
This just might be my favourite Shiloh story, and really isn’t a “terrible two’s” story, but a “two year olds don’t get the meaning of censorship” story:
Angelina and Shiloh were in an elevator together. In walks a very large woman. So large that Angelina begins praying that Shiloh will not take notice and say something that offends the pleasantly plump lady (clearly she knows her inquisitive child). But alas, Shiloh is just too observant and says to the lady “Maybe you have lots of babies in your tummy!”
Big Pimpin’
(As a prelude, I would like to apologize for my blogospheric death. I’ve been working my buns off – will detail all of that at a later date – anyways, I miss bloobing, and I promise I’ve got a lot more sarcasm and senseless wit that needs to be expressed, so consider this my RESURRECTION!)
~As featured in Birth of a Mother Magazine~
I drove a minivan in High School. Granted, I could put that baby into a 360 on an icy parking lot like no other and lunch break was pretty awesome piling 47 people in for Dairy Queen runs. But still, it was a minvan and driving it in my formative years scarred me for life. Therefore I swore that I would be pushing bamboo shoots under my finger nails before I was ever caught dead driving one again in my adult life. Fast forward almost a decade and two kids + one pleasantly plump golden retriever later and all of a sudden I’m shopping for a minivan. Somebody pinch me or just skip the pinching and go straight to whacking me over the head with a frying pan.
So here’s the minivan review – from the biggest minivan sceptic/hater (yeah I’m the first to admit, I hate you minivan, but hate you so much I sort of love you).
We bought the van a few weeks ago. A 2010 Honda Odyssey Touring; black on black (as stealth-like as possible because that’s how I roll). The first brand new vehicle I’ve ever bought in my life and it’s a minivan (oh karma how you work in mysterious ways). Anyways in the world of minivans this is TOTALLY the minivan Snoop Dogg would own (actually I’m like 99% sure he does own it, only his has plush purple faux fur interior and hydraulic lifts). And then we drove it home (and by ‘we’ I mean my husband – the one who really wanted the minivan) and parked it in the garage. And there she sat, while I continued to parade around town in my sexy German SUV in complete denial that I actually owned a soccer-mom-mobile.
But as necessity would have it, we took a trip out to visit the in-laws for the week and we decided this would be the maiden voyage for the new black beauty. Here’s what we packed (and STILL had room).
1) Two kids in car seats
2) One golden retriever (and her bag of doggie stuff)
3) A giant inflatable bouncy house (yeah why not?)
4) 3 suitcases
5) playpen
6) Jolly jumper
7) Bumbo seat
8) Vibrating Chair
9) Hook-on table seat
10) My entire collection of Stella & Dot jewellery and trays and a stack of catalogues (just in case I did an impromptu trunk show)
11) A watermelon (just for good measure)
12) 12 lbs of frozen shrimp (4th annual shrimp boil ya’ll)
13) Diaper Bag
14) Beach umbrella
15) An inflatable pool
16) Stroller
There’s really nothing ‘mini’ about the beast. And dare I say, I think it drives smoother than the BMW X5! It really caters to my desire to be as lazy as possible – I can press a button to open the side doors and tail gate. Yeah people stare in awe of me when I park and doors magically open like a Lamborghini (did I really just associate a van with a Lamborghini? Yes, I totally did…I think I’ve officially crossed over to the dark side now). I also have to say I LOVE the fancy Navigation System. It’s definitely a step up from my $128 Wal-mart special Garmin. I’ve already used it to search for gas stations, grocery stores and a Chapters book store…it’s like having Google in your car! And how many great things can I say about the DVD entertainment system…Nothing mutes a toddler like 3 hours of Iggle Piggle. Although I have to say we need to train her to use the headphones because listening to In the Night Garden characters may make mommy go crazy (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, think new version of the Teletubbies).
When you become a mom, the word “sexy” is replaced by the word “practical.” And that’s just the way it is. Yes a three pack of cotton panties from the grocery store seems practical. Which is why I’ve traded in my dream vehicle to travel a la minivan. I’ve gone from a thong to full backs, metaphorically of course. When I get the Cadillac sedan I’ll be officially rockin’ the parachute panties.
Reality of Loss… Here Comes the Anger
So my journal was posted and this is what I said “We will survive… our family will survive…our family IS surviving. We are happy, we are grateful, we are blessed and we are surrounded by so much love. Our lost babygirl will fly away, her little soul will find the healthy mind and body she deserves and wherever she is we will always love her Tomorrow is a new day and we will be stronger from this experience”
This is how I ended that week of my life. I am now 9 months past that date and should have a happy 2 month old baby. Instead I am left with the constant reminder month after month when I am unsuccessful at getting pregnant. When I see a new born around the same age as my “could have been baby” it kills me. I am told all the time to be grateful for what I have and the beautiful daughter that I have but how can you just forget the pain. The constant daily pain of losing a baby you wanted so badly and now having “problems” conceiving. I have one so I am lucky, some do not even get to know that joy but to be honest that is their pain not mine. “To each their own” a famous quote that seems to apply in only certain instances when it works. Every month I count how long it would take to have a baby if all went as planned and I was pregnant today. How many months/years would my children be apart in age.
The honest truth? Every day hurts. Every second of remembering what could have, should have been is a staggering pain in my heart. Not being able to get pregnant again despite our best efforts hurts. Making babies being a chore rather then love is upsetting. The reality is until I deliver that 2nd healthy child I won’t be half way recovered from this loss. The advice… wing it, don’t be stressed, let it happen, it will happen when the time is right. Did you know there are only 2 days of the month where that darn egg is where you need it to be for the sperm to hit the target? Easier said then done to just wing it.
I turned 36 yesterday. A happy day? Maybe it would have been had I peed on the stick and it said POSITIVE rather than NEGATIVE again!! One more year closer to higher risks associated with having a child. One more month of time wasted. I realize other people may be in a worse off situation but this is my blog (with Amy) and this is my heartbreak.
That is my reality. It is NOT easy and as much as I adore the daughter I have, and am surviving… I am not whole. The little footprints left on my heart are big holes of pain and anger.
Distracted Driving…
Distracted driving: Why kids’ snacks and mom’s driving don’t mix
Excerpt from Consumer Reports
I usually never give my kids snacks in the car while I’m driving, but that Saturday, I was in a rush.
Where were we rushing to? No place special—a new children’s park I wanted to check out. And because they’d been so patient as we visited the shoe store just beforehand, I was eager to get them to the park quickly.
As we walked back to the car from the store, my 2-year-old son and 5-year-old daughter got a little cranky, so I pulled out the cereal bars and water after buckling them into their car seats. Not wanting to stand in the blistering late-morning sun in the parking lot as they bit into, chewed, and swallowed their cereal bars, I got in the driver’s seat—against my normal instincts—and turned on the ignition.
My normal instincts, influenced by my knowledge of what not to do (I work at Consumer Reports, after all!), told me that allowing children to eat when buckled in a car seat while you’re driving is a safety hazard. Why? Because if your child begins choking or having breathing problems, every second counts. And the last thing you want to be doing is 1) trying to cross lanes of moving traffic to reach the shoulder of the road, assuming there is a shoulder, (all the while putting yourself and everyone in the car at risk by looking into the backseat to see how he’s doing); 2) attempting to get out of your car into moving traffic; and 3) getting into the backseat while cars are whizzing by, to 4) finally reach your child, who may have stopped breathing 30 or more seconds before. And 5) you may need to perform emergency care on your choking baby or toddler on that busy road.
Even on a quiet road lined with doctors and emergency professionals, would you really want to put your child through that? I wouldn’t.
So with my kids chomping away in the back seat, we left the parking lot and I turned into the main street. Shopper traffic was pretty substantial, so the cars were barely moving about 20 mph or slower, when I suddenly heard my son coughing. I turned my head to find him spitting out a pretty large amount of his snack all over his chest. My daughter yelled, “He’s gagging on his snack!” and her alarm increased mine, as I tried to cross from the middle lane to the right shoulder to stop the car. By the time I stopped the car, pulled out the key, waited a couple seconds for traffic to clear enough for me to exit my door, run around to his door, open it and loosen his car seat harness, the better part of a minute had passed.
Lucky for me, my son was breathing the whole time. His biggest problem was that a too-big bite of the cereal bar caused to him to gag, and he attempted (successfully, thank goodness) to cough it out of his mouth. The worst of it was that his shirt, pants, sneakers, and car seat were doused with gagging goop and he was unhappy. The good news is that he never stopped breathing.
I should have known better. Regardless of whether your child’s car seat is rear-facing or forward-facing, it’s hazardous to eat snacks in the car. Passing a snack to your child while driving is also a risky move, because drivers tend to turn the steering wheel when reaching backward, which could lead to an accident. Children’s eating in the car is not a good idea overall, since their being secured in a separate seat delays your ability to respond, should the child ever choke—or less seriously, spill their juice all over the upholstery.
The best advice, which I plan to follow: Allow time for snacking before you head out, or plan a few minutes to stop during your trip for a bite or drink. Next time, I’ll wait the few extra minutes to supervise my kids’ snacks and drinks safely before hitting the road.
—Artemis DiBenedetto
“Making Babies…Slap in a Porn and Call Me”
Well it’s no secret to anyone who knows me that after having Naiya I wanted another child immediately and finally had my wish only to have it end in a terminated pregnancy due to a chromosome abnormality. Since the day the Dr said GO! we were off to the races “trying” to make a baby again…only to have it end in a very early miscarriage. Was I even pregnant or was it wishful thinking that 4 tests told me I was pregnant and my period didn’t appear? It was only almost 3 weeks later I walked to the washroom and almost stopped to tell a friend I was preggers, but opted to wait, that I sat down on the toilet to find blood. It didn’t take a genius for me to figure out what was happening as I sat in the emergency room. This only serves to make a woman devastated and ever so much more desperate for a child. I have not figured out why good people who want children so badly have issues and those that don’t or use abortion as birth control conceive so easily.
So my story is about getting pregnant and miscarriages. No one ever talks about the lost babies until you are the first to be brave enough to talk about a topic so taboo in the past. It is comforting when other people open up, to know you are not the only one that has lost something so precious.
On to the “getting pregnant part.” I have driven my husband to a further insanity than he was in when he decided to marry me. It started with the Clearblue easy ovulation monitor my friend gave me. That little machine was bang on and told me when the time was right and when it was it was GO TIME and the aftermath was me lying on my back, doing headstands or anything else to help the little swimmers go up and find the prized egg. Month after month I would be devastated at the sight of my period. Despite positive thinking, eating like I was pregnant and purposely not buying tampons to trick myself into thinking I would not need them every month my period was bang on. 35 days and hello cotton pony. Let’s just say the 35 days is also aggrivating. When you were young the more days before your period the better and now I beg for that short time between ovulation times. As the months progressed, it morphed from an ovulation monitor to sticks to make sure the machine was working. Every month for 5 days Peter was told to come home, make a deposit and then he could carry on. This “baby making” becomes a chore, it’s no fun and well let’s face it… if a porn was slapped into the DVD and I was called at 98% go time to just maybe sit down for my deposit that would save the effort of the forced sex. My cousin told me her husband would tell her “I am not a machine.” Sex…the kind where kissing doesn’t have a role, just straight business. At one point I could see how a woman could just sleep with men for money because I just have one thing on my mind as well. STRESS seems to be the major factor but how to you get yourself to just turn off the emotion of wanting another child? How is it easy to want one when you haven’t had any? How is it to want to replace the child I feel I so unfairly had taken away from me? Well for me it’s gel nails, Dr. Bernstein and preparing to drink my face off (the whopping 3 drinks before passing out) and party for Stampede …anything that is a no no if you are trying to get pregnant…so my body and mind “think” I don’t want a baby and hopefully the miracle of life will grace me once more.
Every month it’s the same goal and then the waiting period to see if somehow we got lucky… to date we have not but hopefully that stork will show up soon!
What Happened to My Waist
True Story… This is a conversation I had at work one day.
3 mom’s standing around and I said “Did you notice your waist rose after having the baby? I mean it used to be down here by the belly button and now its up here in that middle region..” visualize me pointing to the area under my boobs and above my belly button.. what is that area called anyways.
The mom standing with me said…”Um Tina, it didn’t move, its just that your waist is bigger now so you think the smaller area is your waist”
So there you have it, your waist didn’t move, its just the muffin top is now a muffin. So the waist above it is what you THINK is your waist. I tried thinking of a new word – Boaist? Boobt? Boobst? well you get the picture and if you have a great word for it send it in, Visualize it if you can…
Maybe something like this?
LEGEND:
BLACK ARROW – HEAD
BLUE ARROW – MUFFIN TOP A.K.A.IN THE PAST MY WAIST
RED ARROW – PRESENT DAY WAIST… AFTER BECOMING AN OUT OF SHAPE MOM
I Did It Like A White Woman
I did it like a white woman! So some of you may have read my article written way back when “Running errands like a white women”… well this Saturday I did it like a white woman. We always joke that since I have a Chinese mom that I get the luxury of having someone stay with Naiya while I run around doing all my various errands. Carefree, jumping in and out of the car at various locations and doing it all quickly and smoothly. No stops for a diaper explosion or stopping for snacks.
This weekend Peter was extremely sick so I took Naiya with me to get my bloodwork done. It’s ok I told myself “White women do this all the time” I can run errands with my child, Amy does it with 2
1. Stopped at the Mall to get her the New Born Free Twist N Sip cup that I anxiously awaited to arrive, so far I am so so about it, not a product like their bottles that I love love
2. Back in the car across the parking lot to the medical lab for blood work, but just as I pulled up I realized I was at the wrong lab and the one I needed was across town
3. I pulled Naiya out of the car to see if I would weasel my way in and didn’t think I would need the stroller as I thought I would be rejected and sent down to my car rushing across town to the proper lab
4. Well they let us in but the lab by far was the most inefficient in town and taking a number would have been faster. As we sat for a half an hour waiting my turn Naiya fell sound asleep in my arms. . It’s ok I told myself “White women do this all the time” I can run errands with my child, Amy does it with 2. So we waited
5. The bloodwork went smoothly as Naiya slept in my arms and the nurse struggled with the one arm that was free to find my tiny veins. It wasn’t until she said “We also need a urine sample” that I thought . HOW does that work? BREATH TINA BREATH It’s ok I told myself “White women do this all the time” I can run errands with my child, Amy does it with 2. Lucky for me Naiya woke as I was trying to pass her to the nurse and go into the washroom
6. Once in the washroom and having to somewhat explain to my child I am trying to potty train that it’s a test and that’s why there is a cup mommy has to pee in I did my thing. It wasn’t until I was trying to pull up my pants, cap the pee cup and wash my hands that Naiya thought playing with the flusher handle was fun ACK GROSS.. I myself am a foot flusher so I can’t have her touching it. To make matters worse once we washed up there were no paper towels so we had to open the door with my bare hand. This would be the worst place because I am sure not everyone has perfect aim into the cup and we all know some people just don’t wash their hands. Well we survived and I said It’s ok I told myself “White women do this all the time” I can run errands with my child, Amy does it with 2
7. Next stop McDonalds… the golden archs for an Apple Pie for Naiya. I thought the Walmart location was best as I could kill 2 birds with one stone and also do some shopping. Snack time went well, she had her kid’s meal treat and we sat eating. It wasn’t until the mother at the next table was scolding her daughter for yelling and telling her DO NOT YELL, YOU ARE MAKING A SCENE! Actually mom you are making the scene is what I wanted to say but instead Naiya started yelling “BAD BABY YELLING BAD BABY.. MOMMY BABY YELLING” that I politely smiled and got out of there. . It’s ok I told myself “White women do this all the time” I can run errands with my child, Amy does it with 2
8. Next stop Canadian Tire for patio furniture! It took over an hour to get it and load it but finally we had it all. Naiya wasn’t too impressed with the 3 boxes we had to jam into my vehicle that didn’t fit Grandpa’s truck but that’s ok we made it! It’s ok I told myself “White women do this all the time” I can run errands with my child, Amy does it with 2. So needless to say I did it like a white woman! And was proud of myself. I told Amy and she said “Dude I don’t try to do 8 things in one day”
Gaback
Yes, it has been a while since I posted (again, sigh). I’m not going to lie, it is because I’ve been drinking. My girlfriend had a stagette last weekend and I’m STILL hungover. I had a total of 7 drinks all night. Pretty sure that’s all. And I came home COVERED in bruises and scrapes. Yes, I’m a mom of two and I haven’t drank since oh let’s see here…CHRISTMAS 2008…which is why it didn’t take much to get me to the point where I was standing on top of a bar giving upside down shooters to the bride-to-be, pole dancing on a party bus and knocking over speakers. I woke up the next morning, sleeping on the couch – totally soaked because my boobs had clearly exploded. Move over Lindsay Lohan.
On to Gaback. For those of you who don’t know what Gaback means – its toddler for “ketchup.” Which is one of the essential dips in our house and sometimes the only way to get Calliah to eat. Yes, I know we are setting ourselves up for a lifetime of picky eating, but you know what? It is totally worth it because it’s much easier than sitting with her for eighteen hours trying to get her to eat. And Gaback goes with everything. She’s even tried Gaback on strawberries. But seriously, why is it so difficult to feed a little person? When Paul gets home from work and the house is a complete disaster and I’m still in a bathrobe from a shower I’ve had seven hours ago and he’s all “woman, what the heck have you been doing all day?” It is just so much easier to feed the kid a bowl of ketchup and be done with it. Don’t judge me…
Love for Gaback (listen carefully and you’ll also hear “toots”). Oh man is this video a gooder.
Va Va Vooming the Milk Jugs
There’s nothing sexy about the flap down sports bra type nursing bra with milk stains and soiled nursing pads (hmmm, maybe this is why my husband keeps his distance?). Ironically, my boobs are at their best (especially when it has been several hours and I’m overdue for a feed) and they should be on display! Well not ON display like in a glass cabinet over my mantle for all to gawk at and I’m definitely not going to wear boobie shirts when my only outing is to the grocery store or Wal-mart for diapers. But hey, they can look good under the mommy uniform can’t they?
When I breastfed Calliah I either wore the sports bra nursing bra, the crappy porno vixen type nursing bra (you know the type I’m talking about, where the flap comes down and your nipple pokes through a hole), or tried to feel sexy in an underwire bra by lifting it over my breast to feed…well not only did I feel I was cutting off the circulation in my boob this way, but I actually busted out the underwires in a few of my bras and found the wire creeping up and attacking me when I least expected it. So this time around, when I heard that Motherhood Maternity sold REAL bra type nursing bras I was like WOHA BACK UP THE BOAT…
My dear sis picked up this bra for me. For $35, you too can have wonderful boobs again (I might add that its only $18 on the US website, which sort of pisses me right off because I could just had two for the same price, but maybe someone at Motherhood will find this and realize the injustice and send me another. 34D please – yes I said it, 34D and I’m milking it for all it’s worth – no pun intended). Anywho, here it is on the model. I thought about putting up a before and after picture and then thought, hmm maybe I shouldn’t put my cleavage on the internet, because my mom is surely going to find a way to say that somehow implicates her.
Here you go boys – there’s some eye candy for you on bloob (clearly a woman who hasn’t had children because her waist is just too tiny and I’m not even sure if her tatas are real). A little somethin’ somethin’ to thank you for reading my birth story (and living through it). Which also reminds me, I’ll have to post the birth story round 2 pretty soon here! And ladies you can click on the picture to get to the link and check out the bra 
And the Reality of TWO sets in…
First of all, I really need to apologize for the lack of writing. It’s something I really need to get back to. Not only because I know you all miss me dearly and can’t bare another day without being embraced by my wit, but because it’s sort of a way for me to bitch about my day to day woes without my husband getting sick of me. So I’m going to make every effort to get my groove back on with the bloob.
Gabriella is 6 weeks old. Calliah is 19 months old. Last week I took both of them to the grocery store. I think I would have been better off sequestered in cage with two frothy mouthed hyenas.
I made sure to feed Gabby right before we left, thinking she’d just sleep in her bucket and I’d only have to deal with the one child. Well she slept for the first 20 minutes, because when someone is next to you practicing her best rendition of a velociraptor call while simultaneously poking you every chance she gets, it can be difficult to maintain a sound slumber.
Calliah is also getting too smart to take shopping. She spots the goldfish crackers and starts screaming because she wants them. I throw strawberries in the cart and she starts screaming because she wants them. Apparently I’ve completely forgotten the cardinal rule of success as a mother because I failed to bring ANY kind of snacks or toys to keep her occupied…and my germaphobe self just couldn’t give her an unwashed strawberry! I bet swine flu lingers on unwashed strawberries. So we venture to the bakery instead (which is at the complete opposite end of the store and not next on my strategic aisle hopping plan), where the nice bakery lady gives Calliah a GIANT CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE. Smart move on my part. Now she’s COVERED in chocolate and people are looking at me like I’m tottally ghetto and don’t wash my child and she has totally ruined her dinner (because yes she ate the entire cookie that was pretty much the size of her skull). But she’s entertained long enough for me to bag some veggies and get the heck out of there.
Crisis averted. La dee da dee da…Oh right. I have TWO kids. Gabriella starts screaming. Probably for more boob. I unbuckle her from her car seat and pick her up. I contemplate trying to breastfeed standing up next to the bananas but I’m getting weird looks even holding her in that position. So there I am trying to pick out produce while my newborn screams over my shoulder. Try bagging mushrooms with a baby in your arms.
I learnt my lesson. Grocery shopping should only be done with both children if our lives depend on it. I’m talking we’ve been eating cardboard for dinner for at least three days in a row. Either that or I’ll come far more prepared – baby bjorn carrier in case the newborn fusses to be held and a bag full of tricks for the toddler (including valium for both of us. Kidding. Ok maybe I’m not entirely kidding).
