I'm sorry, woman in the public restroom.

We are at the grocery store.

Nina: My belly hurts.

Me: Do you have to use the potty?

Nina: No.

Five minutes later.

Nina: I have to go potty right now!

We make a run for it. We can't find it.

Nina: I really have to go right now!

There it is! We dash into the first stall I see, the giant one meant for people in wheelchairs. No problem. What are the chances that a woman in a wheelchair will need to use the restroom in this empty grocery store at this very moment? I dangle Nina over the potty while she does her business. Whew. That was close.

Squeaky squeaky. Squeaky squeaky.

Huh, what's that noise?

I turn and peek under the stall door. 

A woman in a wheelchair. Of course.

I hear a frustrated sigh.

Me: Are you done?

Nina: No, I still have to go pee pee, and more poo poo, and then maybe diarrhea.

Another sigh. The wheels roll toward the smaller stall next to us.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nope, not gonna fit.

Me: Come on Nina, someone is waiting to use this potty.

Nina: No! I have to go diarrhea! I have to go diarrhea!

Me: Let's just move to the other potty.

Nina: No, I want this potty! This potty! This potty! THIS POTTY!

Cue tears.

Squeaky squeaky. Squeaky squeaky.

I hear the bathroom door open and close as the poor woman leaves to go who knows where. The men's room? All the way home? I'm sorry, whoever you are. I hope you at least got a laugh out of my humiliation. Not only does my child insist on narrating all of her bodily functions, but she quickly develops an emotional attachment to whatever public toilet she happens to be hovering over.

I swear I will never use the giant stall again. Unless it's got the changing table. Because they do that, you know. Totally not my fault. And I will probably use the giant stall if my child is about to pee everywhere and it is the only one left. But under no other circumstances will I use it. Except... I will definitely use it if all the other stalls are dripping with urine or clogged up or smell funny. And sometimes all of the other stalls are out of toilet paper. And of course if I have the baby in the stroller I would need to wheel that in with us.

OK, who am I kidding? The same thing will happen to me next week.

Special moments of the week

Nina: Why did the dog cross the road?

Me: I don't know. Why?

Nina: Because the sign says dogs are allowed to go on the street!

Me: Is that supposed to be a joke?

Nina: Yeah! And there are people in the road and they will bump into the dog, and then they will say, "What are you doing in the road, dog!" Ha ha ha ha ha!

Me: Uh. Um. Ha?



Me: Did you have fun at gymnastics today?

Nina: Yeah. (Shakes her head sadly) But Joshua and Moosie (her two favorite toys) didn't have fun because they had to stay in the diaper bag.

Me: I've been working on the railroad, all the live-long day!

Nina: Stop singing!

Me: Don't you like my singing?

Nina: No! And if you keep it up, you're going to get a time out!

At the dinner table.

Nina: It's a joke.

Me: What's a joke?

Nina: My dinner.

Me: Thanks.

I got Nina a balloon for Valentine's Day.

Nina: A balloon! It says "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Me: No it doesn't. It says, "I love you."

Nina: No, it says "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Me: No, it says, "I love you." See, here is the letter "I," and then this heart means...

Nina: IT SAYS "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!"

Me: OK, if you say so.

I'm trying, at least for a little while.

What do you do all day?

Even the checkout guy at the grocery store notices

At the grocery store, Owen is strapped to me in the baby restrainer and Nina is attempting to put groceries on the belt, then trying to climb into the giant racing car cart by herself, then attempting to push the cart over to a bench to give herself a boost. The cart veers into the register and is wobbling up and down as she tries unsuccessfully to swing her legs up and over the side.

Three professional race car drivers are needed to steer this monstrosity.

Me: Nina, please stop trying to get into the cart.

Checkout guy: She is very movey. 

"Movey" isn't a word, but it does accurately describe my child right now.

Nina: Blah blah blah blah... go in the cart... blah blah blah blah.

Checkout guy: Did you ever see "Cheaper by the Dozen?"

Nina: Blah blah blah blah... I can't get in I can't get in I can't get in I can't... blah blah blah blah.

Me: Yes.

Nina: Blah blah... Help! Mommy I can't get in... blah blah blah blah.

Me: Nina, don't get in the cart right now, I need to leave it in the store.

Checkout guy: This is like the same thing, except with two kids instead of 12.

Nina: Blah blah blah... I need to get in! I need to get in! I need to get in!... Blah blah blah blah.

Me: Yeah, the baby is one kid and she is the other 11.

Nina: Blah blah blah blah!

At least that's confirmation of what I've always suspected. Having one Nina is like having a dozen other children.

1+1 = Dante's Inferno

This post about going from one kid to two from Baby Sideburns is exactly true, right down to the Sophie who became Nina's long lost BFF when I dug it out of a box in the garage for new baby Owen.

If you are expecting baby #2, good luck with that.

Special moments of the week

Nina: Mommy, your back is as squishy as your tummy!

iPad: Great job! You drew the letter "Q"!

Nina: No I didn't! I drew the letter "P".

Me: I'm pretty sure if the iPad says it's a "Q", then it's a "Q".

Nina: No, it's a "P".

Me: OK, if you say so.

Me: Did you wash your hands after going potty?

Nina: Yeah, I did.

Me: Good girl!

(I lean in to give her a hug. She gently puts her hands on my cheeks and looks into my eyes.)

Nina: I didn't wash my hands. They still have pee pee on them from going potty.

My kids are trying to destroy me

Do you ever feel like your kids are trying to destroy you? That's because they are.

Why do you think that baby-proofing is a zillion dollar industry?* It's not because Americans love buying crap they don't need. It's because children are on a mission to make their parents look bad, and what better way than to lick an electrical outlet or practice synchronized diving from the open oven door? Total destruction - of your body, sanity, reputation, everything - is the only thing that makes them happy.

Don't believe me? Look at the evidence: 

Babies

• They will scratch out your eyes if given the chance. While you are changing them, while you are rocking them to sleep, while you are playing with them, even while you are trying to keep them alive by feeding them. They are always looking for an opportunity to clench a saggy piece of your flesh in their chubby fists. The look on their face while they remove bits of your skin is either pure hatred or pure glee. I'm not sure which is worse.
• As soon as they can move their wobbly little heads, they Tilt-a-Whirl it into every hard surface in your home. Crib rails, door frames, your teeth. Don't put a helmet on junior unless you want caps.
• Once their eyes can focus, they take inventory of everything that can either kill or maim them. That way when they learn to crawl, they don't have to waste any time locating all of the electrical outlets, staircases, and heavy, unstable objects. Diving headfirst into the tub's metal spout during bath time? How many times is he going to do that?

Toddlers 

• They refuse to eat, especially when someone who is already judging you as a parent is watching. And while that judging judger is busy judging, they make a face that says, "Maybe I would eat more if my mommy tried harder."
• Running full speed at everything is fun! A flight of steps! Jagged rocks! The open ocean! It isn't because they have no fear. It's because they are that determined to make you look bad.
• When they talk, what comes out of their mouth is at best amusing and at worst something that will get you a visit from the Division of Child Protection. "Mommy beat me!" because you won a race earlier that day sounds funnier at home than when it is screamed in the middle of a grocery store, and yet they will always choose the grocery store.

When you do manage to foil their plans, children respond with the ferociousness of a cornered, injured predator. Howls, wails, fist banging, foot stomping, and of course pinching with their little baby razor blade fingers. This is true when you are strapping them into their ultra-safe, ultra-expensive car seats, when you are pulling them away from an open flame, and when you are attempting to remove something teeny from their mouth. Fun fact: Don't swipe your finger too far into a choking child's throat. If you make them gag, they might clamp their jaw shut and bite off your finger. Then you have to worry about them swallowing a tack and choking on your finger.**

Now that is something that would make you look really bad.

*This claim is not supported by facts.
**I learned this in my CPR class, so it is probably supported by facts.

Bedtime Stories: The Evil Magician and His Eight-Legged Minions

Me: Good night, Nina.

Nina: One more story please!

Me: Why don't you tell me a story?

Nina: OK! Once upon a time there was a girl named mommy and she lived in an orange castle with daddy and Owen and me. Then one day a magician came and took us to his castle and put us in the dungeon! And along came a spider and scared us into a gate! 

Um... this is what you think about while you drift off to sleep at night? Not puppies and rainbows, but magicians locking us up in dungeons and creepy nursery rhyme spider wardens?

Me: Yikes. Did we get out?

Nina: No, we couldn't because we didn't have a wand.

Me: We could just take one from the magician.

Nina: No, we can't use wands because we're not magicians. If we try he will say "abracadabra" and we will have to stay with him forever and ever. 

This explains a lot.

Me: Forever and ever, huh?

Nina: Yeah, and along came a spider and we said "ahhh!" and we couldn't get out of the gate! 

Again with the spider. No more nursery rhymes before bed. Or maybe ever. I need to give this a happy ending or I'll be up at 3 a.m. explaining that we are not actually trapped in a dungeon with an evil magician and his spider minions.

Me: Maybe a magical unicorn came and unlocked the gate with her horn and then a bus came and we all went home on the bus.

Nina: No! We don't take buses to go home! We take our car to go home. We take buses to go to school. Silly. 

Fine. I could explain the difference between a public bus and a school bus, but let me just try a different angle.

Me: OK, maybe the magical unicorn drove our car to the castle and picked us up in our car.

Nina: Noooo... unicorns can't drive cars because they don't have hands. They only have feet. 

Hahaha. I should correct her.

Me: They only have feet?

Nina: And horns. Horns that go "beep! beep!" 

One day, when she is 12 or so, she will realize that even in fantasy worlds where unicorns do exist, her running shoe wearing, car horn on the forehead brand of unicorn would be mocked by all of the other imaginary creatures. But who am I to be the one to break it to her?

Me: So that's it? We are stuck in the dungeon with the magician and spiders forever and ever?

Nina: ...

Me: ...

Nina: Will you sleep with me mommy? 

OK, I deserve that.

Hopefully I don't smell too bad today

Why my day is usually a total fail

There are many things I took for granted before I had kids. Like how easy it was to leave the house. Just get up and go. No packing two bags with diapers, wipes, changes of clothes, lotions, toys, bibs, and 10 varieties of snacks and drinks. No children to corral into one location, pin down, and dress for the weather. No realizing that I failed to pack something crucial when we are two streets away from our destination, but being unable to return for it because that would mean driving past a playground and a McDonald's for the second time, and I am not dealing with that catastrophe again.

Back before kids, getting ready when I had the day off started whenever I woke up -- 9 a.m.? 10? The memory of sleeping late fills me with the kind of nostalgia that only a parent who hasn't had a full night's sleep for nine months can truly appreciate. I would wake up, shower, get dressed, eat, grab my purse and go. If I was in a hurry I could do it all in 30 minutes.

Now that I have two children (otherwise known as the slippery fish I have to bring with me wherever I go), getting out of the house starts at 7 a.m. and sometimes takes until 2 in the afternoon. Sometimes, I start at 7 a.m. and give up completely around dinner time. Better luck next time, mom. And that's just to get the kids ready. Me? Shower? "Do it on your own time," my children say. Between 10 p.m. and midnight, when everyone is asleep. Unless they're not.

The whole leaving the house process requires the foresight and strategizing of a military commander. It all starts the night before. I think about the day ahead of me. What do I need to do? How many stops do we need to make? How many times will the baby need to nap (in the car or at home?) How am I going to tire my children out so they will leave me alone by the afternoon? All of these things must be considered. I make a plan. A plan that will fail, and I know it.

There are many kid-sized wrenches that can be thrown into the cogs of my intricately planned day. It all starts when...

My child wakes up too early. My kids usually wake up at 7 a.m., and the baby naps at 9. That's two whole hours to fit in grocery shopping and still make it back before the little guy is a crankasaurus. Except today little Baby Sunshine is bright eyed and bushy tailed at 5 a.m. He will need an early nap, probably around 8 a.m., and because I am not going grocery shopping at 6 a.m, we will have to wait and go after he wakes up. But that doesn't always work because...

My child doesn't nap as expected. Did I say I planned on going out after nap time? I had better write those plans in pencil. If I expect the baby to nap at 8, it is possible he will either lay in his crib for an hour before falling asleep for two hours, or not fall asleep at all. Now I have one of two problems. 1.) It is 11 a.m. when he wakes up. By the time I am ready to leave it will be almost lunch. Or, 2.) the baby still hasn't napped and it is 9 a.m. He will be tired any second, but I'm just not sure when that second will come. If I go out with a tired baby, there is always the risk that...

My child falls asleep in the car. Or doesn't. Either way, I'm screwed. If the baby hasn't napped by this point, it's basically a lose-lose-lose-lose-lose situation. If he falls asleep in the car, I have to drive around for 30 minutes or more and hope that's enough sleep to keep him from going nuclear. If the baby stays awake in the car, he will definitely go nuclear. If he sleeps, my 3-year-old is in the backseat waiting quietly for her brother to wake up. No, not really. She is alternating between screaming her head off and asking me questions that have no answer. Of course, being in the car is at least a start. Some days I haven't even made it that far when I realize that it's...

Lunch time! If it's 11:30 and I haven't left the house yet, I just give up until after lunch. If it's 11:30 and I find myself driving around with a sleeping baby in the car, I just give up and go to McDonalds. Because if  nothing else, at least french fries taste good. But naturally after lunch, comes...

Poop. I might think I am ready to go. Just then, my 3-year-old will need to poop. She will sit on the potty for 30 minutes and insist she really needs to go. Maybe she will go, maybe she won't. The point is, I'm not leaving the house. When she is finally done, I bundle everyone up. Layers of clothing and coats, strap everyone into the car seat -- then the baby poops. If I'm lucky, I will only have to unstrap the two of them and change one diaper. If I am not so lucky, I will be washing poop from my baby's armpits, doing a load of laundry, and giving up on going out because the car seat is quarantined in the decontamination chamber (the garage) until someone can hose it down. If there is no poop, there is still the possibility that we won't make it out of the house because...

My child takes an absurdly long afternoon nap. Sometimes when the baby misses his first nap, I don't go out because I know he will be tired any second. I wait and wait, but he doesn't want to sleep until after lunch. Why did I wait? See #3. Once he is asleep, he naps from 1 to 4 p.m. This is a big, fat fail. I don't even try to go out after that. Sometimes it's less frustrating when...

My child gets sick. Scrap the plan entirely. Giving up immediately instead of spending the entire day attempting to leave the house is far less annoying. At least I have an excuse for being in my sweat pants all day. But then the next day the other kid is sick. They continue to alternate diseases for all of eternity. When you wonder why some parents bring their sick children out, that is your answer.

So I've just learned to lower my expectations. Then it's a really happy surprise when I manage to get to one store. High fives all around! Let's treat ourselves to some McDonald's! Maybe we'll actually make it out of the house before dinner time.

You were really cute 12 hours ago... now... not so much.