I'm doing 18 years to life and I want a pardon.
It takes a village. Or so they say. But the only village I'm thinking about right now is on a tiny island somewhere in the middle of the ocean far, far away from here. It's not that I don't love having 2 small children. What's not to love? And I did volunteer for this. But when I look at my front door, sometimes all I can envision is sprinting for the hills. And when I'm gone and they file a missing persons report for me and everyone thinks that Josh off'd me, because let's be honest it's always the husband, I'll be in Tahiti drinking a Pina colada. Quietly. Alone.
Missing Plainview woman. Last seen hitchhiking on the side of the LIE. Wearing the same thing she wore all week. Dirty bun. Covered in spit up. Dead eyes. Possibly crazy. Do not chase.
No guys, seriously don't worry I'm fine. I'm only half kidding. Half. Everyone is so kind and always asking me how I'm doing. And I thought about lying and saying everything is great because I don't want to seem like a Debbie downer or a constant complainer, or get reported to child protective services. But let's live in reality here. Taking care of an infant is demanding. And taking care of a demanding toddler is demanding. Doing both at the same time is... stupid. As in, you're stupid to actually think you can successfully accomplish that. These kids are so damn needy.
My parents came to help me for a couple of days when my husband went back to work because even after 40 years, they're still responsible for helping their needy children. So there's that to look forward to. They wanted to provide reinforcement to ensure I could successfully get 2 kids out of the house in the morning to take Nathan to school, help me try to establish a routine, and help get him ready for bed since I couldn't lift him yet. I think they left with PTSD. My dad practically ran to his car to escape my nuthouse. Yelling back at me that I needed to get an au pair. I also think he hid my passport.
Why would I get an au pair? When I have au parents. Plural. Besides if I'm paying anybody to help me, I'm getting a hot Manny.
The first day, Nathan refused to eat breakfast. He just kept running around the house screaming and insisting he wanted to "hold baby." Which would be great if they could take care of each other and I could go to Tahiti, but obviously that isn't really an option. Then he refused to put on his socks, shoes, or jacket. When we finally convinced him to walk outside to the car, already late for school, he decided to tell me that he pooped while I was standing there in the rain holding a 20 pound baby carrier with unhappy infant and giant diaper bag. I must have looked really upset because my mom told me "don't cry, it'll be fine." Cry? Crying is for amateurs. Crying is for when you have one baby. There's no crying now, just scary crazy person, dead inside face. I calmly told my 2 year old he was going to school sitting in his own poop, piled everyone in the car and off we went. Throughout the rest of day 1, I proudly proclaimed that I wasn't even tired, just frustrated and overwhelmed. By day 3, I was like the walking dead, begging for tequila, Ambien, and a straightjacket, and my parents were guarding the exits. Anyone know a hot Manny?...