Friday, August 28, 2015

Sometimes I question my decision to become a mother

Picture it:

7 am- I'm laying in bed marveling that both kids are still sleeping and hoping like hell the dog stays quiet and doesn't wake them up, so I can have a few more precious moments of piece. Then I hear it. The pitiful, pathetic cries of a 3 year old sobbing "I have to go pee". It's a cry that can not be ignored. So I head into her room only to have her screech "no, I don't like Mommy, I wan't Daddy" the second I step through the door. I spend the next five minutes trying to explain that Daddy is already at work between high-pitched yelps and wall kicking. Give up. Head back to my room to find the dog licking the baby's face. I sigh, scoop him up, and discover that Bentley has leaked all through his diaper and onto my bed. As I strip the sheets, Fynn sprints past me into my bathroom yelling "I said I have to pee" as though I've just ignored her for the past 15 minutes. Then I hear, "I need you to wipe me". Sure kid, thanks for making my wildest dreams come true.

7:30- both kids are cleaned up and I'm dressed. We have to leave at 9:20 this morning for double check ups and I'm feeling smug and prepared (big mistake). We've got plenty of time. I get both kids up in carriers and we take the dog for a quick walk. Fynn's laughing in the Tula on my back and I'm thinking that we've gotten over our grouchy mood for the morning.

Bentley scoots around the floor playing while Fynn eats a banana and I mess around on my phone checking all the social media I missed since bed the night before. I even take a cute Snapchat of Fynn eating her banana while "feeding" Bentley a plastic one. Aren't we adorable?

7:45- time to get ready. We head upstairs for the kids to get dressed, and meltdown #2 ensues. The next hour and a half is spent with Fynn screaming, putting clothes on, tearing them off, lots of tears (hers) and exasperation (mine) and as I scurry down the stairs at 9:15 fuming, Fynn is just in her skivvies and I have a massive headache as I threaten to leave her at home while B and I go to the Drs. The next ten minutes are a blur as I shove what we need into the backpack, strap B into his carseat and somehow coax/wrestle Fynn into the least offensive article of clothing she owns- a baggy dress that meshes well with her hobo rats nest of a hairstyle.

9:30- we head out of the drive way, Fynn screeching about her buckle being too tight and that I'm a yucky Mommy. As I drive I realize that I haven't eaten anything and Fynn's only had a banana. Great. Attempt to stop at DD for a bagel, but the drive through line is a mile long and we're already late. Somehow I convince Fynn to brush her hair with the hairbrush I oh-so-conveniently stashed in my pocket 

9:55 (appointment is at 10). We make it to the Drs... but there's another DD right down the road so I sidetrack for a bit to grab bagels and my (much needed iced tea). Scarf down my bagel while unstrapping kids, putting B in the Tula and lugging two kids and a backpack into the drs office. The receptionist gives me the side eye as I check in and Fynn sits on the floor to happily smear cream cheese all over her dress.

Of course Fynn is perfect the entire time we're at the doctors (After all, it's just me that she hates), and both kids walk out with star check ups, though we did get a referral to OT for Fynn which I'll write about later- that's a post in it's own.

11:30- Driving home. Bentley passed out like the good little cherub that he is and Fynn kept her whining to a dull whimper as I began to wonder... why? Why did I want this so badly? Twice? 

I need a nap.

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