Passports.

Today I got up at 5:30, showered, caffeinated, woke up the family and got everyone out the door to their respective destinations. I also gave Pepper a bath, because she woke up with poop up to her armpits. 

Maverick went to kindergarten. Asher and Pepper went to Mother’s Day Out because I had a hair appointment this morning. Today was the first time I’ve left the baby with someone that was not a family member for any amount of time (aside from the gym nursery), and I was nervous, but we both did marvelously.

I got my hair done. I went home and did a few things like locate, and get rid of, a strange smell that was coming from the garbage can. I went back to the school and picked up Maverick and the baby, but not Asher, because Maverick had to go get his allergy shot at 1:30 and I know better than to bring Asher into that situation.

I know this is boring and you can stop reading now if you want to, but this is the point where my day went from normal-mom-busy to absolutely-batshit-insanity and if you want to know why mothers are the way that they are … then here you go.

I stopped at the drugstore and got a toy to use as a bribing tool to keep Maverick from running off at the allergist’s office. Every time I take him he tells me he won’t wig out on me, and every time he totally loses it and tries to run away when they call his name. There is nowhere to run, but yet … he tries. He runs into storage closets, the doctor’s actual office where pictures of his family and diplomas are hanging — RUNS AWAY.  Today I had the double stroller with the baby in it, and I just couldn’t. So I promised him a small toy if he would just get his shot, and not make a scene. 

He agreed.

We went to the allergist’s office. We signed in and waited. And waited. 

The baby pooped.

I had no baby wipes. 

I asked how much longer we’d be waiting. The receptionist apologized and said she didn’t know – we were waiting on the doctor, who has to be in the office when the nurse administers the shot just in case something goes wrong. Okay, no problem. But by now it was 20 minutes past our appointment time, I had a baby sitting in poop, and Asher needed to be picked up soon. So I had to reschedule and get us back on the damn elevator and go down 4 floors and into the clinic store to buy baby wipes while the entire time answering a series of questions from Maverick.

I bought wipes. We took out a trashcan trying to get the stroller into the bathroom. 

I realized I’d brought in my purse, and not the diaper bag, so I didn’t have a diaper with me.

We went to the van. Maverick got in. I gave him the toy I was planning to use as bribery just so he would stop talking to me for a few minutes as I prepared to change a poop diaper in the blazing sun. A car was sitting behind me waiting for us to leave so she could take my spot. I walked over and said “I have to change my baby’s diaper and it’s going to take awhile … you may not want to hold up traffic.” She drove away, but the people behind her proceeded to sit and wait. And wait. And drive off, after probably getting annoyed, and the next car sat and waited, and on and on and on. I tuned it out because I was literally dealing with the worst diaper situation ever.

While I worked, I had the following thoughts: I hate Huggies wipes. HATE. They suck and I will never buy them again. I hate the sun. It’s too hot. I hate the fact that I’m a sweater. Why am I pouring sweat like I’m working out when all I’m doing is changing a diaper?! I haven’t worked out all week. I will never overbook myself again. I need the gym. I hate the allergist. Why can’t he be on time? It’s not hard to be on time. I WAS ON TIME.

We picked up Asher from Mother’s Day Out. By the time we got home, two out of three kids were crying. The drama escalated. Pepper pooped again. Then I realized my stomach was really feeling … not right. I washed everyone’s hands. Shortly after that, I was in the middle of making sure Asher didn’t get smothered to death by couch pillows when Husband called.

***

Husband: Hi! 

Me: Hi.

Husband: Whatcha’ doin?

Me: Seriously?

Husband: Oh … uh …

Me: WHAT DO YOU NEED.

Husband: Well … if you have time, do you think you could look up how long it takes to get a passport?

(Maverick is on Asher’s back wrestler-style, cramming his face into a pillow and Asher is screaming for help.)

Me: WHY CAN’T YOU LOOK INTO THAT?

Husband: Because I’m at WORK.

Me:

***

Now, my husband is a smart man and if he took the time to think about it, probably knows I WAS ALSO AT WORK and did not have time to do internet research because I was maxed out trying to keep everyone alive. But unfortunately, he didn’t think about it, so I had to be mean to him.

And this is why men think women are irrational bitches, and women think men are stupid. 

Hopefully he was asking about the passports because he plans on taking me somewhere fancy and exotic as a reward for doing such a fantastic job, but after I was rude to him, he probably doesn’t want to go anywhere with me. So maybe I’ll just flee the country on my own.

 

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