It's been over six months now. People (who are not my child) call me mommy all the time. "How's it going, Mommy?"
The thing is, I'm not sure I'm a mommy or a pack mule. Or maybe being a mommy makes one a pack mule?
Today Reagan was in one of those "if you even consider putting me down for half a second, I'll wail till the windows shatter" kind of moods. I'm her pack mule. Tonight I carried Reagan (who was holding Dolly #1) and her doll stroller (complete with Dolly #2, two baby bottles and a hubba) as well as the camera bag (fully loaded) down the stairs. Not only is this a broken neck waiting to happen but it's also quite painful on my person in general.
One would think with all this hauling around I'd be stick thin with muscles that would make Arnold swoon. The problem is that in order to maintain this kind of energetic routine, I must eat my weight in ice cream every night. With chocolate on top.
So maybe the muscles are there but they're covered in chocolate? And maybe there's a mommy under the diaper bag, baby dolls and Legos?
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1 comment:
Why I believe that being a Pack Mule makes you a Mommy. ;)
that and not gagging when changing the yuckiest of dirty diapers.
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