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I Need a Village, Stat

I Need a Village, Stat

I need a village immediately.

Leaving the house alone on the days I have both boys is somewhat a Christmas miracle. With all of the planning that goes into just stepping out the door, I often wonder if it’s worth it. It’s ridiculous how many things have to be in order before we even get to the car.

The car is another story for another day.

Packing to go just about anywhere is like preparing for a natural disaster. Do I have enough diapers? Wipes? Water? Fruit snacks? Changes of clothes? Do I have sippy cups? Does it have the spill proof little doodad in it or do I have to yet again fish around in the garbage disposal?

I have to nurse Jordan before we leave, to decrease the chances of having to do so in public. I don’t know why I feel eyes glaring when I whip out my Udder Cover, but I do. This should be the least of everyone’s worries because at least I’m using the cover. I used to be modest, but I no longer have the time or patience.

Consider yourself lucky if you have never seen my nipples.

While I nurse, I beg the other to find his shoes and attempt to redirect him every three seconds when he sees something shiny and loses focus. Once the shoes are located, we have the verbal jacket battle because that is my next request. Since logic is an unnecessary tool in conversations with everyone in my house except my husband, things often get interesting. I come up with all sorts of good reasons why he should wear the stupid thing and he throws toys and remote controls, and whatever else is handy.

Finally, we’re all packed up, the diaper bag, which is a big yellow duffle bag, is overflowing to the point where I can’t zipper it, I’m sweating, and both kids are screaming. We haven’t even made it towards the door and I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. Nicholas Jr. doesn’t want to wear a jacket and Jordan is pissed that no one has been looking at him for 10 seconds.

By the time we’re all bundled up and ready to go, I’m wishing for a bolt of lightening to strike me dead, but we’re ready. Now, to find the keys. Mommy Brain is a very serious illness that DOES exist no matter what anyone may say. I would literally leave my head everywhere if it were not attached. The keys seem to never be where

I remember leaving them and between the sweating, screaming etc., the film score might sound something like a slasher movie right before someone gets stabbed repeatedly. Eek Eeek Eeeek.

I find them, we’re walking…I have the two bags, the baby seat in hand, and we’re almost to the door… and then… there comes an awful sound from Jordan’s diaper.  He is notorious for pooping all the way through his clothing approximately six or seven minutes after being placed in the car seat. I’ve started putting him in the thing long before we have to leave for this reason because I cannot get a handle on the timing.

The stress of leaving my house is enough to cause pattern baldness. The African proverb, “It takes a village” might apply here and I may look into finding one and moving there if it will lower my stress level.

I think this might be why people with gaggles of kids have so much time for sex. They must never get out.

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