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Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Me Time

If you are like me, you will get very excited over the prospect of having a babysitter. And, now that your oldest is in kindergarten, you will want to celebrate with a little Me Time. Again, if you are like me, you will schedule a massage. And, when your twins wake you up 6 times the night before, owing to two new teeth each and major constipation issues (who knew eating corn, carrots, potatoes, and banana all on the same day is like the quad-fecta of plumbing problems? Not me, obviously.), you will console yourself by saying, "No worries, Self. Remember, soon you will be worked on by Sven, Andre, or Bob, for all I care - point being - you will be worked on soon."

Then, if you are still like me, you will get a text from your babysitter, who is never late by the way, saying that she is late and will be arriving at the time that your massage is due to start. In the meantime, in typical overcompensation style, you will have given your children enough pears to move the Titanic out of their rear ends, which is exactly what happens to poor Sofia. Crying included. Sadly, no theme song.

You will debate leaving said toxic waste for the sitter, but as you are watching the clock anyway, you will change the diaper yourself. Which, is how you will end up with sh*t on your leg and a crying baby. The crying will lead to snot on your arm. For those not following, that is sh*t on your leg and snot on your arm.

At this point, you will have given up all fantasies of Me Time and will just settle for a padded room somewhere tropical. I know, you can't see the sand in a padded room, but I think it would be just a little more festive. Finally the sitter arrives and, if you are like me, you will shuffle dazed and confused onto the back deck to plot your next attempt at Me Time, vowing to lower your expectations and to build in hours of extra fudge time. The metaphorical kind, not the literal kind like you can still smell on your leg.

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