Right now, I have a toddler, E, standing at his door - mind you, he cannot escape as he's blockaded in by a baby gate - saying "Come out, please." He's been "napping" in there for about 17 minutes. When I go back there to tell him to get back in bed (a.k.a. you'd better take a freaking nap because if mommy can't get ten damn minutes to herself someone's gonna die), he'll be standing there as sweet as can be, with about eight stuffed animals lined up at his feet, looking like he's ready to pass out but refusing to do so. Go. To. Bed.
Falling asleep in the car on the way to or from anywhere has been death to nap, and I find myself thrilled to sing Jingle Bells 40 times during the ride if it will keep him awake. Before this nap vanished into thin air today, I was awesome. Both kids woke up promptly at 6a.m., which makes me want to die every single morning, but it's my own stupid fault for staying up too late the night before - and I'm not talking 9:30, people, I'm talking a good solid 11p.m. That is LATE. Everyone was properly changed, fed, and entertained by 7:30. My infant, H, was ready for his first nap, and went down briefly. I spent a few minutes partially asleep holding H while I let E watch his daily 24 minutes of television, and then began to prepare everyone to leave the house, because we are going to the mall.
This venture takes about two hours. I get E changed and dressed, give him an applesauce pouch to snack on until lunch, clean up the pouch droppings as he parades around the house with it, dress H, change H, dress H again, put on my shoes, and realize H needs to be fed again. The very, very brief window of opportunity to get out of the door is gone, hence why this always, always takes two hours.
I sit down to feed H, and halfway through, he randomly gags and then projectile vomits partially digested breastmilk EVERYWHERE. And by everywhere, I really mean it - down my shirt, down my pants (soaked through all the way to my underwear), all over the couch, all over himself, on the Boppy, on the floor, and when I later return to get them, I realize on my shoes as well. Awesome.
I change everyone and everything, finish feeding H (better get something in him as I'm pretty positive he's emptied his entire digestive system), pack everyone up, and leave the house. I plop the carseat into the car, persuade the toddler to get in with the sweet, sweet offering of a gummy vitamin, and start driving. We were going to get to the mall today if it was going to kill us.
We get there, I shop in one store, we hit the play area, I feed H again, I get an organic chicken kid's meal for E (food court win!), and then I take not one, but both children on the carousel, by myself. At this point, I feel like a real winner. I look like a mom who can do it all. I don't even have any barf on my shirt. I look around to make sure that SOME parent somewhere sees me being this awesome. Someone somewhere must know that I've already been up for at least 5 hours, both of my children look normal and happy, and only some of my hair is messed up.
And then E starts crying - some tiny thing sets him off and my brief honeymoon with the kids is over. We've reached a point where E needs a nap, and I'm screwed. It's not even noon - naptime is typically closer to 1, but he woke up early this morning so he's ready. I give him a pacifier, put him in the stroller, put a fuzzy blanket on him, and start walking to hit a store or two before we leave, because I just want to get Christmas shopping over and done with. Now I look like that mom that doesn't care, and just lets her toddler run around with a pacifier in his mouth all day to shut him up. My feelings about his and other children's pacifier use will be addressed some other time, though.
It's me time now, and I decide we need to leave, but can't help but get a cup of tea at Teavana on the way out. Both kids are locked in the stroller, and I can surely manage a free hand for something warm and delicious. While the tea is brewing, some damn train comes tooting through the mall with kids and their parents riding in it. E is pissed. He wants a ride, and he wants it now. This all happens as I get my tea, look over, and realize that H has finally fallen asleep, after not having a real nap yet today. We are not getting on that train.
I gain my resolve, and this is when I start to quietly bargain as I walk them out the door. We can come back tomorrow. Daddy will be home around dinner time, won't it be fun to ask him to bring you tomorrow? Daddy would love to ride the train with you. Do you remember how we went on the carousel before? Wasn't that fun? Let's talk about that instead. What songs do you want to sing in the car?
If I had fruit snacks or another pouch or something hidden in the car, this is the place where I would offer it.
Somehow talking about the carousel distracts him from being distraught about not riding the train. We just can't...we need to go home for his sake, but there's absolutely no way to explain it to him right now.
We get to the car, sing Let it Snow over and over until E passes out ANYWAY, and now here I am. H is still passed out in his carseat where he will remain until he wakes (thanks, kiddo), and E and I are at war. I've put him back into his toddler bed a second time, rubbed his back to calm him, and will sit here, during my ten minutes of being alone, biding my time until he takes another stab at coming out.
At least he's super cute. ;)
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