I came down the stairs a few minutes ago and lay down dramatically on the floor with my hand at my forehead. "Pick your poison," Chris said, and mixed me a Bloody Mary. Let's just say that I may have enjoyed an evening beverage after a long day at the office, but that's nothing compared to how I have enjoyed my evening beverage after three days as the caretakers for two kids under the age of four.
Now, don't get me wrong. This is still my favorite vacation. We're staying in a beautiful townhouse in a hugely comfy king size bed and there's a dishwasher and a laundry room and a back deck and a grill and a yard and one of those double-door stainless steel refrigerators and a dog who snuggles up next to you. Plus, my two favorite kids in the whole world. The first day I sneezed, and Taylor looked at me and said, "Bwess you, Wawa" and my heart melted into a puddle that hasn't congealed yet. I'm having an amazing time, and I'm not kidding. I'm so relaxed--I feel like the work world exists on a different planet entirely.
That being said, the next time we're all "Oh, let's take the kids out to dinner and then to Target!" someone really needs to clonk me on the head. I hope Liz doesn't have Internet access in Hawaii or she'll be so mortified at me. Oh well.
So at dinner, I'm sitting there waiting for the entree to arrive and I realize that my entire lap is slowly soaking. The front, the middle (my underwear), and the back (my butt). I don't know how and I don't know why. All three of Taylor's beverages were on the table as far as I could see. She had been sitting on my lap (one of the most gratifying things is that when you change someone's diapers sixteen times a day and rock them to sleep they really latch on to you, and when she comes running to me with her arms out I feel like I could burst, it makes me so happy), and I began to have a worried suspicion that maybe her diaper wasn't on quite right. But then the food came, and I was shoveling my salad into my mouth at an unchartable rate, trying frantically to finish so we could leave before a certain missy started hurling French fries at the elderly couple behind us, and couldn't quite check. We paid the bill and headed a few buildings over to Target to get Austin a Lego reward--he had his last day of school yesterday.
So we're in Target, and I'm mildly eyeing the Zac Posen line that's still there, because nothing ever sells out in Maryland, and Austin and Zach (my brother, a Lego expert) are heading off to the toy aisle, and I realize that I can't read the signs because I don't have my glasses on so Chris is helping me search in my purse but not only are the glasses not in the pocket I'd put them in, they're not in the purse AT ALL when I hear what I can only describe as a tinkling noise
and I look down and Taylor is gazing at her feet as a very clear puddle forms around them. (This girl drinks a lot of water.) "Oh my God," I say, and everything is in slow motion, like an action movie, and I pick her up and run for the restroom
where thank heaven the changing table is open because I sure have no idea how to maneuver them but guess what? It's right next to the hand drying machine. And apparently Target has no paper towel dispensers. You know what, it's great to be green. But YOUR HAND DRYING MACHINES ARE TERRIFYING MY SWEET LITTLE GODDAUGHTER.
So I'm trying to lay her down and she's screaming and screaming in fear, clutching at me, clenching her legs, and this nice lady looks at me apologetically and just as the machine shuts off, she hits the on button again.
I'M SORRY. YOU COULDN'T SHAKE YOUR HANDS DRY????
Somehow I get Taylor to lie down long enough for me to rip the wet diaper off her and throw it, unraveled and all, into the garbage. I pull another diaper out of my bag and get her into it and desperately pull it shut and
the tab rips.
Well, I am Auntie Superhero and I packed TWO diapers. So I pull out the other one and by now someone else is drying their hands like OH, DID YOU NOT KNOW THAT IT JUST BLOWS UP DIRTY AIR FROM THE GROUND? WIPE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR JEANS YOU'D BE BETTER OFF and Taylor's crying hysterically and begging me to pick her up and my heart is breaking and I get her into the second diaper and then I realize that it's backwards but WHO CARES and I tape it on her and we run out
and go to look at shoes but my glasses are lost and I can't read the shoe sizes even though I really want to get her a new pair of sandals because I think her jellies are too tight on her chubby little feet. So we go looking through all the clothes and she pulls a pair of shorts, hot pink with polka dots, from the rack, then a matching tshirt, then a pj set then another pj set and she's running through the store and I'm just following her, grateful she's forgotten her ordeal in the restroom and thinking to myself, at least her pee was clear. Whatever hapless employee has to clean it up won't even know. Then we found a Hello Kitty compact and she discarded all the clothes (which weren't her size) (because she loves kitties "meow," especially Hello Kitty kitties, more than anything, I forgot to say at the beginning) and Chris bought it and a Lego Star Wars set for Austin and now Austin and Zach are upstairs making it and I gave Taylor her tubby and she went to bed without a fuss except for the part where I put her onesie on her--she hates that, but once she's in it she goes to bed pretty easily. Okay. It's ... Saturday? I'm getting the hang of this. I'm having FUN, I love this so much--as I'm typing this I'm striving for ways to say how relaxed, tired, happy, exhausted, delighted I feel, but don't get me wrong:
I cannot believe Liz does this every day all by herself. I'm so happy she's in Hawaii. She deserves a royal vacation every year, I'm so serious. She's my new superhero. Actually so is my mom because by the time my sister was Taylor's age my mom also had Zach and I just ... my mind boggles. It boggles. Moms: you deserve more than just a day in May.
Update: I lied, she was still squawking on the monitor an hour later, so I took her up another bottle and offered to rock her but she just laid down, she didn't want to get out of her crib. I said, "I love you, Taylor," and around the bottle she said, "Wuv you toooo." I said "na-night" and "go to sleep, okay?" Then I said "okay?" again. "Otayy," she said.
I'm worse than those people who show you their wallet photos and I know it.