Foggy Glass

Me:  Jack! Do we have duck tape or something ?

Jack:  Ya why?

Me:  I’m tired of holding the breast pump. Do something!

And here I am writing this post with two free hands!

The noise the pump makes is so loud I can’t even think straight and I thought I could use the time on the pump to write my blog. There’s nothing you can really do while on the pump. You can’t watch TV or be on the phone because you won’t hear anything.  You have to sit near a plug far enough from the kids’ rooms so the noise doesn’t bother them but close enough so you can hear them if they cry. I rarely have free time and this is how I spend it. No, this can’t qualify as free time. Actual free time is a rarity. It sometimes happens that I have a few minutes to myself if the kids’ naps overlap each other. Then I’m torn between eating, sleeping or taking a shower. I usually opt for sleeping. Most times the shower is not even an option because you can’t hear them when you’re in there so I usually shower in the middle of the night, after or before one of the their feedings. That’s my favorite thinking spot. I was telling this recently to a fellow blogger when she asked her readers where they’re favorite thinking spot was. I told her mine was the shower because the foggy glass door is perfect to write my ideas down in point form, to make charts and especially to do manual calculations. If it happens during the day that I need to take time to think about something I just leave it for the shower. Sometimes shower time never comes but that’s another topic for another day.

foggy glass

Wow the noise is really unbearable… during the day when I’m on the pump A1 comes to me with all her questions that I can’t hear because of the noise it makes…A2 is afraid of the vacuum cleaner and the breast pump again because of the noise. Last week A2 would stay across the room if I had the pump, this week she’s worked up the courage to wobble on over in her little dress and hit the pump while yelling “No! No! No! No!” In her eyes the pump is probably something that’s attacking me and she’s trying to save me from it. This week A2 wore a different dress every day to daycare. It’s because I’m so far behind in the laundry that all she has are the fancy dresses hanging in the closet.

The problem is not doing the laundry, it’s sorting it between what A1 wears, what’s too small for A1 but too big for A2, what A2 wears, what’s too small for A2 but too big for A3, what A3 wears then finally what’s too small for A3 that I debate whether I should give away or keep just in case I have another daughter one day. Yeah, it’s pretty complicated. There are boxes everywhere marked with ages and seasons on them, all diaper boxes of course… Diaper boxes are used to store everything in this house and they’re also used as laundry baskets because the real baskets are obviously full.

My own wardrobe is almost as complicated. There are the clothes I wear now, the clothes I used to fit in before I got pregnant the last time and hoping to get back into soon, the clothes from before I ever got pregnant that I keep to torture myself and finally, I have the maternity wear that I debate whether I should give away or keep just in case I have another baby one day.

Now that’s a scary thought…or is it?


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