August 6, 2012

...And That's How I Ended Up Wearing Her Pyjamas.

You know when you have your first baby, and you go places, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days, and you pack your whole house?

You have three things for her to play with, four things to sit or lay on, seven changes of clothes, a whole box of diapers, a pack of wipes, some laundry detergent (just in case), six burp cloths, and a change of clothes for yourself. In two separate bags.

And then you have your second baby, and you realize you don't need all those things. You realize the baby will sit in his carseat, or lie on the floor. You know you can survive with just some extra diapers and a pair of clean pants. Your diaper bag has some Cheerios and an extra set of underwear for your oldest, but you're down to one bag and feeling pretty confident.

Then you have your third baby. You jettison the diaper bag entirely, and often leave the house for hours at a time with just a diaper in your purse. You brag to your friends about that time you drove past the airport, and "could have just flown to Florida", because you're such a seasoned parent that all you need is your baby and you'll figure out the rest.

You're cocky. And then you're punished.

The baby poops all over herself at her immunization appointment, and you have to drive her home naked.


You change your toddler at your mother's house, and you have to use paper towels because you didn't bring any wipes with you. 

And then, the pinnacle: you take your three kids with you to your cousin's house for an overnight visit, and - at an idyllic rest stop on the way there  - your son's butt explodes, your daughter pees her pants, and your baby barfs all over herself. 

And you end up doing laundry in your cousin's basement, in her pyjamas, because you didn't want to bring more than one bag.

(Thanks for letting me wear your pyjamas, Rhonda. And do laundry. And win as Sequence. Quack.)

This time last year:  Lannis: Sing With Me