“Parent” roughly translates to “flexible” see: “super hero”

Being a parent is as exhausting as it is rewarding.

I have all these ideas on how my day is going to go or my weekend and then when it’s all said and done I look back and shake my head at the abandoned plan we left crumbled in the dust.

Flexibility. That has been key. You will never truly know flexibility until you are packed up and ready to go and your baby poops. And then immediately needs to eat and you breastfeed. So there’s about a solid 30-45 minutes (give or take) where you just went from about to leave to completely immobilized. 

That was he case today!

We were going to a birthday party, and I had the bright idea to wash my 4 outfits that fit my “postpartum body” that I recycle throughout the work week so I could go somewhere and actually be wearing totally clean clothes. It was ambitious of me, hindsight I should’ve washed them last night or sucked it up and got another day out of them. But I digress.

Hubs had a tournament, so we just chilled around the house this morning. Very low key- Drake was naked until about 11 just munching on donuts from yesterday and playing lawn darts.

 So I pushed getting ready until I got a 100% commitment from my husband that he would be coming to the party. Figured that he would text me about 30 mins before he got home giving me plenty of time to get ready.

Again, that was a mistake.

He called me from the blue tooth truck phone, which by the way is the worst invention ever. Like, I know we aren’t supposed to talk on the phone and drive. I get it. So then just wait until you get home. I hate talking to someone and delving into some DEEP convo only to be stopped mid-sentence with a “just FYI you’re on the car phone and my family can hear every word you’re saying”. Screw you and your car phone, I don’t have time for your nonsense. But again, I digress.

So the truck phone is a pretty good indicator that I have no time to get ready. Like, he is practically around the corner. So he came barreling in as I hurried in the bathroom to pretend that I was getting ready instead of this:

We rushed to get going, and to my dismay my postpartum pants were still wet. So I put on my “busted can of biscuits” pants where the buttons pop open whenever I suck in too much air or eat more than a handful of fruit. We were all ready to go and then:

Hungry babe. This is a breastmilk drunk baby passed out πŸ’›

Cons, we were about an hour late and we left at an awkward time so our kids were hangry by the time we got there. Pros, we made it in time for presents, cake and ice cream, and my pants had enough time to dry. 

Mom for the win.

We celebrated with dinner at East Coast Foods.  Kiss my philly sandwich, universe.

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