See those three faces? I will preface this by saying that they totally make it all worthwhile. I adore those little mugs and realize how blessed I am.
Sometimes the reality of being a mother of three slaps you in the face.
The scene: We were driving to NH to my sister's house to celebrate her birthday. It's a little over an hour away and the babies are unpredictable travelers. We were 20 minutes away from her house and approaching one of the nicer Walmarts I have been to. We were a bit ahead of schedule and I asked if we could stop.
We are going to Disney World in a few weeks. Last summer I was wearing mumus...um, I mean maternity clothes. I don't even know where my non-maternity, warm weather clothes are. I've been slowly losing some weight and am hoping that the trend continues so I didn't want to spend a fortune of clothes. I was hoping I could find a couple of t-shirts that would be suitable.
I've never been accused of being a fashionista. Still, I was asking to go to Walmart to buy clothes. Don't get jealous yet. It gets better.
We schlepped the babies in their bucket seats into the store and plop them into two separate shopping carts. Hubby (who was not at all thrilled with the fact that we stopped) said he would take our son to find bubbles and told me I had 10 minutes to replenish my wardrobe with cheap garments.
I reflected on shopping trips past as I frantically tossed articles of clothing with labels reading, "Hanes" and "Faded Glory" into my big blue cart. I longed for a leisurely stroll through Express or the Limited with a Starbucks in hand.
15 minutes and $30.00 to spend. It was like a game show. To add to the stress, the baby I was in charge of was starting to whimper and squirm. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I approached the dressing room.
I approached the rickety cubicles that they try to pass off as a dressing room and was told by a friendly, smocked worker that I was limited to 6 items. Six!
I had a cart full of randomness in 3 different sizes because I haven't a clue where my post-partum body stands, a baby who was about to blow and a dwindling time limit. To make matters worse, I needed to prioritize the garments and create a pecking order for trying them on.
I grabbed 6, handed over the rest to be guarded under the watchful eye of the attendant and squeezed into my assigned cubicle with a baby carrier and a squirming infant.
The squirming turned to crying.
The crying turned to screaming. You know the mouth open, purple face kind.
The screaming served as a beacon for hubby, the boy and the other twin to locate me.
Despite my attempts to tell him to wait, my son was determined to see what was going on.
Did you know 4 year olds could easily crawl under a fitting room door?
They don't leave that way though. Instead, they leave through the door. Which they fling open.
While you are changing. Only my head was in that stage of changing where the shirt covers it and so I didn't notice that the door was wide open and that I was exposed to the world until I had been for a bit.
You may now envy the glamourous life I lead.