It’s the day after the marathon, and I’m tired. Not just any tired, but third trimester with a ten-pound baby tired. A dense fog has taken up residence in my head, and my once agile body feels as if it’s an old beater at the end of a demolition derby.
I lie on the bed listening to Kiki cry, “Mommy, Mommy,” from her crib. Of all days, today’s the day she naps less than forty-five minutes. Murphy’s law or is it mother’s law?
I take a deep breath and drag my body off the bed wincing at the pain in my legs. Feebly, I pick up Kiki from her crib and settle into the rocker for stories. Bunder cries.
“Seriously?” I say aloud.
I struggle to stand holding the baby and meet Bunder in the living room. I offer to read him stories on the couch with Kiki. He throws himself on the floor, “No Kiki! No Kiki!”
He protests the presence of his sister; he doesn’t want to share my lap.
Kiki notices his intent and starts to cry and scream in my arms, “No! No!”
With one child screaming on the floor and another screaming in my arms, I slouch to the couch and try to keep the thoughts of self-pity out of my head.
“That which we manifest is before us,” I think of this quote from Garth Stein’s book.
Time to manifest something different, I decide.
Through tears from all three of us, I manage to load the kids, the bike, the stroller, and the dog into the car. I hobble back inside for the kids’ snacks and drinks.
Minutes later, we arrive at the dinosaur park, a county park with fake rock formations to climb on, large dinosaur eggs to crawl through, and dinosaur fossils to dig out of a giant sand pit.
I only wish Bunder would keep his hands out of his pants.